War and Peace on the Kindergarten Playground
by Alias424
Summary: Anger, much like her many well cut suits, was something Cuddy wore strikingly well. HouseCuddy
1. Jelly Bean Roulette

**The usual: I don't own these characters or anything else you might recognize. Just borrowing them for some good, old-fashioned _House/Cuddy_ fun. Thanks up front for reading!**

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**Chapter 1: Jelly Bean Roulette**

"Good _Lord_!"

His iron stomach had survived most of his college years, med school, and that two-month stint where he and his roommate had lived on nothing but Ramen noodles in order to buy a VCR and begin an all-important collection of porn tapes. And in two seconds and with a single piece of candy, the reputation that he had spent years of schoolboy pranks and dares building was dangerously close to toppling.

The repulsive flavor that had amped his gag reflex past eleven had assumed the shape of a single jelly bean, but surely it was some sort of clever guise – something this disgusting must have been fermenting in the center of a garbage heap for a thousand years before being dug up, chewed on, and spat back out by the devil himself.

Eyes watering, House grabbed at the paper napkin that was held out to him and spat into it, scrubbing his tongue like a five-year-old and glaring at the now-suspicious bowl of candy before him. "What the _hell_ was that? It tasted like it had already been digested."

"Vomit's one option," Wilson answered, once he could stop laughing long enough to speak. Reaching into his desk, he tossed House a small purple box. "Or earwax or sardine."

House eyed the box of Every Flavor Beans, which included an array of tastes to satisfy almost any madcap craving: from cherry to grass to rotten egg. "Spew-flavored candy? We should stock this instead of ipecac."

"Gave a kid in the clinic fifteen bucks for the box – five for the candy, ten to separate out the favors. After seeing your face, it was completely worth it."

"What did I do to you – ?"

"Recently?"

There was a half-eaten Tupperware of something on Wilson's desk and House snagged it. It looked strikingly unsuspicious and smelled more-or-less okay, but Wilson's yelped protest at its sudden disappearance clinched it: House took a bite.

"Mmm. Deliciously vomit-free. My compliments to the chef."

"I'll let him know you enjoyed it," Wilson answered dryly. "He'll be thrilled." Seeming to resign himself to the fact that he would have to relinquish his lunch for the moment, he sighed, reaching for the bowl of candy and tipping it into the trash.

"Hey!" House reached out to stop him, grabbing the bowl and managing to save a few of the precious, grossly-colored jellybeans. "Give me that. That stuff's a disgusting goldmine."

Wilson took this opportunity to win back his lunch, hurriedly taking a bite before House could seize the container from him again. "They're revolting."

"_You _know that. _I _know that. But my three little pigs _don't_." He propped his cane up against the edge of Wilson's desk and leaned beside it. "I don't know about the other two, but I can _definitely _get Chase to down a couple of these. Wanna come watch?"

"As scintillating as that sounds – no. And why are you hiding from Cuddy?"

"Why do _you_ _think_ I'm hiding from Cuddy?"

"She's asked me where you were three times in the last two hours. And..."

He was watching Wilson carefully, saw his eyes flick to the doorway a split-second too late.

"House."

Her voice lilted roughly, unpurified honey straight from the hive and streaming stickily over him – sweet and abhorrent, unwanted and erotic all in a single word.

Something must have been jamming her radar, because he had successfully avoided her the entire morning – no easy task: Cuddy was an efficiently-trained general with built in tracking technology and artillery that he had not only become very good at dodging, but also, luckily, was very rarely switched from stun to kill. But just like that – in the course of a few seconds and with food as a decoy – all his careful efforts at evasion churned down the drain, and he hadn't even had time to reach for his weapon or radio for backup.

Only deviating half a moment to glare at Wilson, House turned, sculpting his features into the most innocent expression he could muster, puppy dog eyes included. He held out the bowl and shook it enticingly, its contents rattling. "Jelly bean?"

"No."

Her eyes were sizzling, flashing sparks at the end of twin fuses. A lesser man would have raised the white flag and begun slapdash negotiations for an immediate cease-fire.

House grinned.

"C'mon…" he snorted in disbelief, cocking his head. The jelly beans clinked against the glass as he swirled the bowl. "I saw you at the fro-yo machine in the cafeteria yesterday. You could've given that German kid in the chocolate factory a run for his money."

Cuddy didn't crack, folding her arms across her chest as she glowered at him. "If _you're_ giving away food, there has to be something wrong with it."

"You tipped her off," House accused with a frown, turning to Wilson.

Wilson shrugged. "She's good."

"You're supposed to be in my office."

He'd known Cuddy long enough to realize her smooth tone was forced. It was written in the way her breath hitched as she tried to conceal emotion, how her chin tilted towards the ground so she had to peer up at him with raised eyes. The pose was characteristic of her, used to express a dozen different sentiments. But it was the ever-so-subtle way the corners of her mouth turned downward and the narrowing of the eyes that did it: this was pure, slowly simmering rage.

Anger, much like her many well-cut suits, was something Cuddy wore strikingly well. But she generally cast it off rather quickly (the suits, unfortunately, almost always stayed).

There was really only one thing to do: rile her. He threw a grenade up from the trenches, smirking wickedly. "Someone's a little anxious for some afternoon delight. You know, next time, you can always do a little composing on the single-key piano while you wait…."

She crossed the room, only needing a few quick strides to be practically on top of him – the heat of her body and wrath radiating, and he half-wondered if Wilson was close enough to notice. "Something, I'm sure, you're remarkably well-versed in."

He shook his head, near laughter but able to hold it in. "Nice try – doesn't really work both ways. I'm more for two hands on the solo air guitar."

Leaning toward him now, she was so close that he caught the minty scent of her breath as she spoke. Her voice was dangerous, thrilling and she emphasized each of her words as if it were its own sentence. "You owe me."

Caught between her and Wilson's desk, there was nowhere to go but sideways, and to do that would be too obvious an attempt at escape. House stayed where he was, raising an eyebrow. "You weren't _that _good last night."

She mirrored his gaze, a hint of amusement curdling her anger. "If that's the case, think of how awful _your_ performance must've been. My office. Now."

"Demanding. Just the way I like it." Without taking his eyes from her, he managed to steal the plastic container back from Wilson. If she hadn't budged on this whole _you're supposed to be in my office_ thing with the last few minutes' spin in the conversation, she wasn't going to. "Can I at least finish Wilson's lunch first?"

She sighed, ever a sucker for placating him, a flaw, perhaps, only because he knew it and wasn't above using it against her.

"Five minutes. Not a second more, House – I mean it."

"He'll be there if I have to drag him by his ear," Wilson chimed in, having watched this entire exchange without concealing his amusement.

"Traitor."

Cuddy eyed them both, no doubt unable to miss the sincerity oozing from every one of Wilson's pores, the stench of it stronger than that of sweat in a men's locker room. Finally, she nodded, pausing to glare at House one final time before striding from the room, the swift clicking of her heels like gunshots, fading as she disappeared down the hall.

"What did you do to set her off?" Wilson asked, seeming to think better of the question and tacking on, "This time."

"Do your lips have a thing for her ass _just_ because its hers – "

"I've seen her angry before – even angry at _you_ – but somehow this topped it…."

" – or would you kiss the hairy rear-end of a 65-year-old man if he happened to be your boss?" He paused for a moment, semi-considering what Wilson had said. "She wasn't even yelling."

"No," Wilson replied, adopting the deep, self-righteous tone that he considered sarcastic, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms. "It was that quiet female anger. Even someone like _you _knows how quickly that's going to explode in your face."

"I think you need at least two ex-wives to come to that conclusion." As predicted, this elicited an eye-roll. "Cuddy can't stay mad at me. It's against her genetic code."

"You go farther to piss her off than you're willing to go to the vending machine. Just add a couple of dead worms and a frog or two and you're a twelve-year-old chasing after his crush. Do us all a favor and ask her out already."

"But if I touch her, I'll get cooties," House whined.

Wilson sighed. "A twelve-year-old with a drug addiction, a sex drive, and a motorcycle license. Society's worst nightmare."

"Funny. You'd think it'd be something a little more globally-threatening like war or nuclear holocaust."

"Friday night. I have two tickets to an art exhibit."

"Are you asking me out?" House deadpanned. "Because I'm not sure I'm ready to take our relationship to the next level…."

"If you don't take her, I will."

The way Wilson twisted the words, it seemed almost a threat, but not one that House was even close to taking seriously. Fortunately, Wilson was much easier to annoy than Cuddy; so much so that it almost took all the fun out of irritating him. Almost.

The formula was simple, might have been printed in the faded blue of a mimeographed ditto, the instructions to a kindergarten art project: make a back-handed comment, color, paste together, and let dry.

House spun his cane, batting the crook from hand to hand. "What makes you think she'd even _want_ to go out with you?"

"Right." There it was – aggravation just beginning to scribble itself over Wilson's tone. "That's a fair question from the guy who _hasn't_ been on a date with her to the guy who's been on three."

"Those weren't dates," House scoffed. He never passed up a chance to point this out: the more he said it, the more he would begin to believe it himself. There had to be some magic number for the amount of times you had to repeat a lie before it began to sound true. So far, it wasn't anything under 37, but House was hoping he'd hit on it soon.

"If you don't want to go out with her, I don't see why it matters to you whether they were dates or not."

"Just trying to keep you in the kiddy league where it's safe. You might hurt yourself if you play with the big kids." He glanced up at Wilson before continuing, wanted to be sure he had a good view of his friend's face before delivering the final jolt. "You should try Cameron – she's the all-star T-baller for the New Jersey Cripple Lovers. I'm sure she'd let you pinch hit…."

"You're an ass. You couldn't get Cuddy if you tried."

This held about as much weight as a schoolyard threat. At this rate, Wilson would be triple-dog-daring him before his five minutes were up, even without the slowly tightening circle of a hundred playground brats and the chants of _fight! fight! fight!_ vibrating the air.

"I forget: is this the part where I became an instant idiot and fall for your reverse psychology?"

"No, this is the part where you admit that somewhere inside that black heart of yours, there's a _tiny_ part of you that actually cares about Cuddy."

Timing was of the essence. He couldn't miss a beat here: Wilson would surely notice. Wit and crassness, of course, would also help.

"Maybe some not-so-tiny parts of her…." House held his cupped hands up to his chest, palms up, and pretended to squeeze.

"And Gregory House's inability to have a happy long-term relationship is summed up in a single gesture." Exasperation now – they were already at the don't-eat-the-paste portion of the instructions, the bane of every five-year-old's existence. "Never mind. I'll take her."

"No you won't," House pointed out, grinning smugly. "You know she only has thighs for me."

Wilson watched him curiously, as if, having heard the statement once before, trying to gauge how much of it might actually be true. "Okay, we'll make it interesting. Lunch. A month's worth. You win, I'll make lunch for you. I win, you won't take mine."

"Isn't is usually customary to bet on something before naming the stakes?"

Now it was Wilson's turn to grin, and House had a sudden sneaking feeling that if he didn't watch his back, he'd find his nose pressed to the pavement. "That when _you_ take Cuddy out Friday night, it _won't_ be considered a date. And you'll be lucky if she doesn't strangle you before the night's over."

On a playground, a chorus of knowing _ooohs _would have echoed across the asphalt, stopping jump-ropes and swishing the nets on rusty basketball hoops. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches were at stake here, the highest commodity on the grammar school black market. The question now was whether or not he would accept the challenge with dignity and stick his tongue to the frozen flagpole….

The phone rang.

It was the cue House had been waiting for. Taking it, he lurched to the door, only pausing to call over his shoulder. "Tell her I'll be there right after I grab the whip and handcuffs."

Wilson stuttered a flustered greeting into the phone behind him.

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**There's more in the works (if you're interested, of course). Please let me know what you thought!**


	2. Tag for Two Players

**Wow. I'm in shock. You guys are amazing! Thanks so much to everyone who read the first chapter, especially: SnowySleigh, AngelEyes2332, HouseaholicM, huddyaddiction, lilylynn, loves2writestories, Kate, coco1116, thera10, Huddytheultimate, Raya Dreamer, J Lesley, insanehouseaddict, HouseAddiction, HOUSEM.D.FanForever, gidget89, Shikabane-Mai, Bubbles, Merlynnod, PaualAbdulChica2007, Per Veritatem Vis, Kish32, Sdemar, Snivellusly Ozalan, Captain Tish, and SmilinStar!**

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**Chapter 2: Tag for Two Players**

"… at least fifteen minutes… will last the entire time… stand up straight. You will not say anything vulgar… And you will…."

House had no idea what she was talking about – or at least was fairly certain that what he heard of her list of demands didn't at all align with those that immediately came to him.

All he knew with absolute conviction at that moment was that Cuddy was livid. She sat back easily in her chair but her jaw was set, her eyes narrowed.

If the scene were animated, the sky outside the window would have darkened ominously: black clouds billowing, throwing handfuls of hail and rain against the glass between forked spears of vivid lightning and ear-splitting, crackling thunder. An unseen harpsichord would have struck a wailing minor chord at the exact moment that Cuddy's skin turned an instant, alarming red, her pen morphing into a pitchfork as two horns sprouted at the top of her head. Then, as if nothing had happened, everything would be suddenly back to normal – the sun smiling, birds twittering innocently in blue sky – leaving his cartoon self with the sinking feeling that a giant anvil was hanging by a single fraying threat somewhere up in the rafters.

"House!" The sharpness of her tone told him it wasn't the first time she had called his name. "You haven't been listening to a word I've said."

"Fifteen minutes, stand up straight, and vulgar," he quickly replied, not even trying to hide his smile. "And is fifteen minutes really all you think – ?"

"Of course not," Cuddy interrupted swiftly, waspishly. "I know your stamina for _that_ is well under ten."

She said it smoothly, unblushing. And he almost had to pinch himself to make sure he hadn't fallen asleep: _this _Cuddy, the one that snapped back at his quips with equal vigor no matter how crude they might be, was the stuff that dreams were made of.

"You must be confusing me with Wilson." His tone was teasing, a play at seriousness that they both knew was just that – still, House half said it in hope that the statement would be instantly denied.

He was disappointed; she steered the conversation back on track. "Friday night. Eight o'clock. The Mercer Medical Symposium. Morgan was scheduled to speak this year, but – "

Her first two sentences had shocked him: he had almost allowed himself to think that this bet with Wilson was going to be much easier for him to win than either of them had anticipated. The whole conference idea, of course, threw a bit of a snag into the whole thing, but he could make it work.

"That Swedish stewardess on layover in Trenton again?"

"His appendix ruptured."

"No one ever wants to speak at this thing," he grumbled. "He's faking."

"It's a little hard to fake peritonitis and septic shock. But if you want to pay him a visit in the ICU to make sure he's not trying to pull one over on you, be my guest."

Cuddy gestured wildly towards the door, brandishing her pen like a sword, her expression clearly stating that she'd have him drawn and quartered if he so much as moved.

His mind was suddenly inundated with flickering, fleeting images of the offices of his numerous past principals and headmasters – all basically the same, differing only in the varying degrees of baldness and corpulence of the disapproving man behind the desk. Had any of them even _remotely_ resembled Cuddy, with little more than a second X chromosome and an age on the right side of fifty, the buildings would have been clamoring with rowdy schoolboys up to no good not simply for the sheer fun of it, but with the obvious intent of gaining a one-on-one meeting with the headmistress to fuel another desperate teenaged wet dream – any detentions or demerits racked up along the way well worth the time and effort for just a _glimpse_ of that cleavage.

Cuddy had no idea how lucky she was that she only had him to deal with – and well after his adolescence (his "spirited" years, as his mother termed them; his father only meeting the idea of his pubescent son with a silent scowl).

"Can't." House stepped forward. All that was between them was her desk now, and he truly had to stare down at her. "Gotta case. Important one."

"No. You don't." She may have had to look up at him, but the power-play didn't seem to faze her – she was the one _behind_ the desk, after all. "And you won't until after Friday. Your team has already been informed of their other assignments. Chase is in the NICU, Foreman's up in Neurology, and Cameron – "

"You're taking away _all_ my toys?" he whined, picking up a stack of addressed envelopes from Cuddy's desk and flipping through them, as if that were some form of retaliation.

"You're lucky that's all I'm taking away," she replied, snatching the envelopes from him and placing them well out of his reach.

His fingers tingled where hers had brushed them, and as she didn't seem to have noticed the contact, he tried to ignore it.

"Nice."

"Wouldn't be for you."

"Or you either – if you know what I mean…." He leaned towards her, waggling his eyebrows lasciviously, and she pushed her chair slowly backwards, the first clue that his closeness was having any effect on her.

"You have clinic duty for the rest of the week. When you're not in the clinic, you will be on call in the clinic. And you'll be writing your speech for Friday."

"You're grounding me? I didn't even do anything that – "

The glare she shot him would have surely been capable of killing small birds and rodents, perhaps stunning a small dog or cat. "Only the medical equivalent of shouting fire in a crowded theater."

"You have no proof that was me."

Swiping some of her things out of his way, he sat on the edge of her desk. Cuddy arched an eyebrow, staring pointedly from him to her desk and back again.

"I'd swab the perimeter of the lecture hall for fingerprints," Cuddy began sardonically, "but we both already know what I'd find."

"That _a lot_ of people have touched stuff outside the lecture hall?"

"House…."

"Fine." He sighed theatrically. "But to set the record straight before you go all CSI on me, any bodily fluids that show up under the UV lamp are all Chase and Foreman's."

Thus far, she had brushed off his comments admirably, but his constant poking and prodding, his complete lack of remorse and disregard for the thick indelibly-markered line between right and wrong, was finally beginning to achieve its desired effect.

_And they were off: running full-tilt across the playground, two schoolchildren in a game of tag that no one else was playing– her ahead, of course, trying to get away, and him behind, arms outstretched and out of breath already, woodchips flying beneath his feet._

Cuddy gripped the arms of her chair, knuckles whitening and nostrils flaring, voice rising with each successive syllable. "Two hundred med students, an eighth of the staff, _including _all the Board members, three potential donors, all of whom have _oddly_ decided to distribute their funds elsewhere, _and_ the international panel…."

He grinned, only making her frown more furiously. "Some party."

Her sadness was graceful but made him pricklingly uncomfortable (no doubt a sensation close to guilt if he would admit to having a conscience); her guilt confused and frustrated him; her frustration was entertaining; her amusement a reaction he craved and enjoyed. But her anger… that was something glorious: cheeks and chest flushing, eyes igniting as she locked horns with him like no one else would.

For most, fury was just another emotion, expressed with shouting, perhaps, rather than tears or laughter. But for Cuddy, it was a fully-body Olympic sport: every nerve-ending firing right on target, pulse pounding in a perfect rhythm that he could feel throbbing in the air. And it was then that he felt more in sync with her than he had ever been with anyone else.

"Yes," Cuddy answered dryly. "They were all _thrilled_ when the debate on infectious epidemics turned into a five-hour hands-on workshop on how to quickly rule out – "

"No one even _appreciated_ the irony?" he teased, knowing the answer even before he had asked the question, rolling his eyes when she refused to respond. "There was never any meningitis."

"Funny," she snapped. "That's not what a group of students in the back claims a man in a Monster Jam hat and sunglasses told them in a very fake British accent after "accidentally" breaking open a suspicious vial and perfectly demonstrating the symptoms."

"_Obviously_ not me. _My _fake British accent sounds like the real thing."

Cuddy rolled her eyes, scowling viciously as she finally rose, relinquishing the authority of her desk for restless movement and crossing the room to search for something in a file cabinet. "I was on the phone with Rīga Stradiņš University until two in the morning trying to explain, without an interpreter, why their Head of Traditional Infectiology wouldn't – "

"Should've let me know. I could've – "

"What, House?" she interjected without turning. "Asked if his sister was over eighteen?"

_The little girl in the schoolyard was red-faced and panting, hair flying around her face, and she yelped as the boy's fingers brushed against the back of her plaid jumper, stumbling in her saddle shoes and darting dangerously between two moving swings and deftly skipping into a game of double Dutch, assuming he wouldn't dare follow._

Inching slowly so the location of his voice wouldn't give him away, he crept up behind her. "Twenty. My Latvian's a little rusty."

There was no point in smirking when her back was to him, but he knew Cuddy would hear the gesture in his tone. She bristled, angrily slamming one drawer closed so she could open and begin flicking through another.

"What the hell were you thinking, House?"

"I wanted to talk to you," he answered conversationally, not surprised when she didn't ask him what about. He was so close to her now, he could make out the individual curls at the nape of her neck that had escaped from the clip twisting the rest of her hair up and off her shoulders.

"Oh, come on, Cuddy. You can't stay mad at me."

The words rumbled softly, his head bent so they practically whispered into her ear. Cuddy flinched at his sudden closeness, just perceptibly, those stray curls trembling, but recovered with lightning speed, simultaneously banging the drawer shut and turning to glare at him. "Just because you're easier to deal with when humored and bribed, doesn't – "

"Then bribe me." Anticipating that she would take advantage of the extra space behind her, he closed in just as she moved back – a clear violation of the hula hoop of personal space elementary school had taught and office decorum called for, if his nearness to her hadn't been already.

"No." She raised an eyebrow, eyes sweeping up and down the length of his body as she searched for an exit. "You're speaking at the conference."

She twisted out from between him and the file cabinet – only because he let her – not a very graceful move for most Deans of Medicine, perhaps, but for Cuddy, it worked wonders.

_The other grade-schoolers would be vicious, pointing and laughing, sing-songing that schoolyard chant about trees and love and a carriage and marriage: the blushing horror of every child whose secret crush had been discovered. The schoolboy was being too obvious, lips already puckered, but he improvised, reaching out and yanking the girl's hair._

"I dare you."

House watched as Cuddy whirled on the spot, safely behind her desk once again and quickly rolling her chair between them as he began to lumber her way. "You _dare _me? What are you, five?"

Tossing his cane to get a better grip towards the bottom, he flipped it quickly, hooking the end over the arm of her chair and tugging. The chair rolled easily: Cuddy had removed her hand, stood now with her arms folded, watching him come closer.

"A five-year-old wouldn't be tall enough to appreciate this view of your cleavage," House responded after a moment, turning his gaze downward and ogling – taking advantage of the fact that she wouldn't push him away because that would require physical contact, and, by now, with the amount of static and tension built up on their two opposite charges, the spark would be jolting, the air between them already crackling with electricity. "We both know you can't stay mad at me – it's against the laws of nature."

Following the path of his stare down to her own chest and up again with that amused-but-annoyed look of disbelief, even when they both knew she didn't expect anything less of him, Cuddy tilted her head, eying him. "_That's _your dare – that I can't stay mad at you? What exactly do you hope to gain from that?"

"Aside from countless hours of entertainment?"

"House…."

"You know how much I love screamers, Cuddy."

"Grow up."

"Oh, you're so good – starting already…."

"House, I'm not – "

"When I win, you have to deduct my clinic hours this week from the ones I owe you." This new knowledge refused to budge her: he would have to up the ante, watched her carefully as he continued. "And you admit that, while you may be higher up on the food chain in this jungle, I have more control over you than you like to admit."

Cuddy's eyes flashed – denial and indignation. He had her now.

"And when _I _win?"

_The teeter-totter had shifted on the playground – all the weight suddenly on the other side, the girl chasing the boy now, just like he wanted (though he would deny it until the recess bell rang). He scrambled to the jungle gym, swiftly climbing with the other schoolyard monkeys – all boys: no girls brave enough to risk a public display of underpants to those mischievous hooligans crouching underneath the jungle gym hoping for just such a glimpse._

The answer was simple. "Not gonna happen."

_But the girl clambered up beside him with a gap-toothed grin:_ anything you can do I can do better._ The schoolboy slid headfirst through the monkey bars, hooking his knees and letting go, swinging wildly, everything in the recess world upside-down. Except for her face as she swung right alongside him, a chorus of shrieks echoing across the playground, crossed with the unmistakable refrain:_ I see London. I see France. I see….

"When it does?" Cuddy insisted, voice sultry in these close quarters.

_Of course, there was nothing for the boy to do but bring his forefingers to the corners of his mouth and pull it wide, sticking out his tongue before grasping the cool metal of a bar above him and flipping over backwards and down, diving out from beneath the jungle gym and dashing off across the playground._

House grinned, conceding. "Whatever you want."

Cuddy smiled, almost sweetly, reaching out to place her palm softly on is chest, holding it there so long that he was sure she must have felt his heartbeat begin to race. He swallowed, watching her and waiting. Her gaze held his, unblinking, and the sudden force as she pushed against him came as such a surprise that he nearly lost his balance, stumbling backwards.

When he caught himself and her eyes again, she was grinning smugly, arms folded in triumph, her chair once again in its proper place.

House tried to look shocked, and he was, but the struggle to keep his thrill at her willingness to play along from smearing itself too obviously over his features was proving a bit more difficult. Rubbing the back of his neck – it was very possible she had given him whiplash and he intended to milk that for all it was worth – he amended his terms, feigning annoyance: "Within reason."

Cuddy's response was clipped, perfect with a finger pointed at the door in accompaniment. "Clinic. Now."

He grinned. He'd give her an hour. Maybe two. There was no way she could keep this up until Friday – he would make sure of it.

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**Thanks for reading, and please take a second to review! They really are helpful and I love hearing what you guys have to say.**


	3. Whistled Revenge

**Thanks so much everyone! y0bb, J Lesley, barqualounger, SnowySleigh, Snivellusly Ozalan, HouseAddiction, AngelEyes2332, huddyaddiction, Mix-Me-A-Martini, Huddytheultimate, HouseM.D.FanForever, rosannadawson, PaulaAbdulChica2007, Shikabane-Mai, lilylynn, Wolf Maid, CaptainTish, loves2writestories, 7ala11, coco1116, SmilinStar, Bubbles, Merlynnodd, and gidget89: I can't thank you enough for your kind words. You all are fantastic!**

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**Chapter 3: Whistled Revenge**

"You can't do that!"

The red-rimmed, bloodshot eyes of the formerly sulky college student widened as he inched backwards on the exam table, mouth snapping shut to keep House from slipping the tongue depressor inside. House rolled his eyes, annoyed, tongue depressor still in mid-air. He hadn't spent more than ten minutes on any of the twenty-seven patients he had seen since waltzing into the clinic six minutes before the time allotted on the schedule that morning, and he didn't plan on letting Wilson's intrusion spoil his record.

"You're… with a patient," Wilson observed from the doorway, obviously surprised.

"I hear that's all the rage in medicine right now."

"And you're wearing a lab coat."

_The boy on the playground had been caught by his best friend somewhere between a game of four-square and the chain-link fence, the friend hurt and accusatory – he had been picked last for kickball ten minutes earlier without the other boy's intimidating power-kick to back him up._

"It's almost like I'm a real doctor." Wielding the tongue depressor like a sword, House held it right in between his patient's eyes, sliding it down his nose and pressing it to the seam of his lips. "Open up, Puff the Magic Dragon."

"I'm not – "

Taking advantage of the open mouth, House jabbed the wooden stick inside, the kid's voice muffling with an incomprehensible splutter. House tilted his head back towards Wilson. "Whaddya think? Tonsillitis?"

"You need a consult? Seriously?"

"I'm between that and strep," House mused, turning and eying his friend. "I didn't call you for a consult."

Wilson stared at him, not even pretending to look into the patient's mouth. "You can't make a counter-bet just to – "

"Different horses, different tracks, different race times." House paused. "Okay, so maybe the horses and the timeframe are the same. But my bet with Cuddy has nothing to do with my bet with you."

"Not on the surface. But there's got to be some connection in that twisted mind of yours."

_Word on the playground had spread wildly from the jungle gym, to the tip-top of the wooden castle's tallest tower, and down the twisty slide. He had been seen chasing and being chased by a girl, and he had been grinning like it was Christmas morning – or the first night of Hanukah, as this particular little friend might more likely say._

"I won your bet already," House said with a shrug. "We're going out Friday night."

"The Mercer Medical Symposium – "

"Ungh…." This was the patient, still sitting with the tongue depressor in his open mouth.

"Is a real snore-fest." House removed the instrument, making a face at the string of saliva that escaped along with it and handing the wooden to his patient, wiping his hand on his lab coat.

"Is not a date," Wilson finally finished.

"They serve dinner. You have to dress up and make annoying small-talk with a bunch of people you hope you never have to see again. I don't see the difference."

"Have you even considered that in order for her to _not_ be angry at you, you'd have to _actually_ be nice. There's no way you'll win."

"That's not very nice of you," House countered.

"Right. I'm the rude, anti-social one."

"I'm doing my job." He picked up the rubber mallet and hit it against his patient's knee, to prove his point, even if it was a test the kid did not need. "She can't yell at me for that."

"No, but there are probably at least a dozen things you've already done that she hasn't found out about yet."

"Trouble with your girlfriend, Doc?" the patient interrupted, before House had a chance to respond.

_No, the schoolboy tried to reason, he hadn't liked being chased, and he didn't like her. They had sung that song, everyone on the playground, and the last place he would be caught dead with that girl was sitting in a tree. He swore it across his heart and hoped to die, and would stick a needle in his eye if he had to, so of course, it had to be true. Or might have been if his fingers hadn't been crossed behind his back the entire time._

Wilson, damn him, was chuckling. "She's his boss."

The patient raised an eyebrow, leering. "Oh yeah? My girl likes to be on top, too. Adds a little –"

Cursing the hospital's policy of not keeping scalpels and needles more readily available in the clinic – not for the first time that day either – House grabbed a new tongue depressor and the patient's chin, and jabbed the instrument inside the kid's mouth. "Now I'm thinking throat cancer."

Like a child promised candy, Wilson seemed to be of only one mind that afternoon. "I still don't see how her being angry at you works to your benefit."

House grinned. "Cuddy can't stay angry when there's nothing to be angry about. The guilt alone will make her explode, and I want a front-row seat for the fireworks."

_In the corner of the playground, the boys plotted elaborate, impossible revenge and emptied their pockets for possible props: a nickel, three pennies, a piece of string, two Lego blocks, a ball of lint, a pebble that looked like Superman's emblem if you squinted just right, a few dried boogers, and the powder of crushed cornflakes that one of them had forgotten to eat._

"That's cruel," Wilson responded. "Even for you."

The exam room door opened. "House."

"Finally. My actual consult and not another annoying oncologist."

The patient seemed to have forgotten the injustice of having a wooden stick jammed into his mouth and now sat slack-jawed and practically salivating, staring at the figure in the doorway.

Cameron stepped inside, arms folded over her lab coat and vest. "I'm not writing your speech."

"Anaphylaxis?" House asked with practiced seriousness, ignoring her comment.

Cameron looked into the patient's waiting mouth, which had widened considerably – probably not half as suave a gesture as the kid had hoped it would be. "No. And I mean it. I'm – "

"Then don't write it. Find me one someone else wrote."

Cameron grabbed his wrist, pulling the tongue depressor out of the patient's mouth. The kid probably would not at all have been thrilled to know that his fawning expression at the moment was that of a damsel in distress who had just been rescued by her knight in shining armor and was in rapidly increasing danger of swooning dead away.

"Cuddy said that if any of us so much as lift a finger to help you, she'd – "

"Who cares what _she _says. _I'm_ your boss."

"Not this week," Cameron answered matter-of-factly.

"And she's not writing your speech," Wilson added before House had a chance to retort.

"You've got your own people and you're stealing mine?"

The door opened with just a little more force than was necessary and House didn't need to turn to know who had entered this time. It was something of a sixth sense – not so much the simple scent of her as a tango of pheromones whenever she was within a certain distance, the hair standing up on the back of his neck.

_Something sharp poked the back of the schoolboy's head, the tip of a fingernail that needed to be cut, its surface covered with dirt and chipped red paint. The girl was grinning stupidly, her head on his shoulder; the boy too overwhelmed by the sudden closeness to do anything more than gasp. She smelled like apple juice, which he didn't like, and bubble gum, which he did, and only when she giggled did he remember that he wasn't supposed to be liking this at all._

On the exam table, the patient had blanched, losing his more or less cool demeanor and looking suddenly alarmed. "How many doctors do you need to – "

House cut him off, turning and simpering sweetly, a schoolboy obediently chanting his daily recitation. "Good afternoon, Dr. Cuddy."

She was dressed all in red today, as if to outwardly express the emotion he had dared her not to take off. The glaring white of her lab coat only served to heighten the flaming effect of her clothes, especially since what he could see of her lacy silk top pulled just right in a thousand and one barely visible places. He was fairly sure that his inability to pull his gaze from one of those places in particular added extra force to her tone when she finally spoke.

"Save it, House."

"Over twenty-four hours and still going strong. Didn't think you had it in you."

Cuddy folded her arms – a mistake if she was at all trying to get him to avert his eyes: the gesture and a low-cut v-neck formed one of his all-time favorite combinations, beating the classic cookies and milk hands-down.

"It's not like you're making it especially difficult."

"Hey," he protested half-heartedly. "I've been in the clinic all day."

"After that stunt you pulled Monday – "

"You can't still be mad about that."

" – for absolutely no reason…."

Somehow, even though he hadn't taken his eyes from her, he had completely missed her stepping forward. It was as if she had been suddenly magnified – the space of half a room becoming less than two feet in an instant. She was radiating so much heat that they might as well have been touching, the air between them thick and heady.

"I told you I had to talk to you."

There must have been something infused in his tone that he hadn't realized was there, because her expression changed, still cautious, hard, but now with a slight tremor in her forehead – not the coordination of nearly enough muscles to furrow it, but deep down the reaction was there, even if she wouldn't let it through. Her eyes were still unforgiving, cutting through him – no longer with the enraged hacking of a butcher-knife into a side of beef, but with the glinting grace and care of diamonds on a hard but fragile pane of glass.

"Fine." Cuddy's voice was low and quiet – still carried a hint of danger, but laced with a thread of concern that she was probably praying he wouldn't notice. "Talk."

_The schoolgirl was leaning her weight against him now, daring him to push her off, but he couldn't find the strength to do it. And this must be like drowning, the boy thought – at the bottom of the pond in the heat of summer, the weight of the water pressing down, down, down to the slimy, pebbled floor, and not being able to breathe…._

_Because swimming is something schoolboys know – _love _might as well be a phrase in Swahili or the essence of the Fundamental Theorem of Calculus._

Someone coughed. And only when House realized that the sound hadn't come from Cuddy did he remember that they weren't alone.

"In front of a patient?" he quickly teased, because one of them had to and teasing was one tone he could always pull off to perfection. "That's not very professional."

He had left her wide-open knowingly, would welcome a returning jab about his own bedside manner to keep the sudden humid heat in the small exam room from suffocating the both of them. "You wouldn't know professionalism if it bit you on the ass."

"Would you?" House asked, pokerfaced, as he pretended to consider this. "Anger, I might recognize. Hunger, even. But professionalism…?"

"My office. _After_ you're off clinic duty." Her eyes narrowed, but her cheeks were beginning to flush, and it was much too difficult to take any threat from her seriously. "And don't think I didn't notice how every single roll of toilet paper from all the restrooms in the building ended up in your office."

This caught him by surprise, and his face must have registered it, but a quick glance at Wilson – who was valiantly avoiding all attempts at eye-contact from anyone in the room – confirmed House's suspicions. "I didn't – "

"Right."

The final sarcastic fierceness in that one word and Cuddy's stare spoke volumes of her anger, but his mind somehow kept confusing the emotion with lust and arousal – the slowly crumbling bricks of the palisade that were all that was left of the Great Wall of China between love and hate.

Without another word to any of them, Cuddy turned with a swish of fabric and stalked from the room.

_The schoolgirl scampered off and away from the boy as quickly as she had come. And the boy was left staring sheepishly into his friend's face, following an accusingly pointed finger down to the pile of pocket treasures that lay between them – the nickel and three pennies now gone._

"Am I dying?" The patient's question was hoarse and cracked, as if his attempt to sound nonchalant had forced him into a second puberty. "I mean, I know I probably shouldn't have – "

"Yes," House replied.

"No!" Cameron quickly intercepted, surely shooting him a glare. "House…."

"Maybe not right this second." House stood, heading towards the door. "You have a cold. Lay off the ganja for a few days and stick to the VapoRub."

Wilson caught his arm as he left the room. "I think we need to talk."

"I think I need to go to the bathroom," House replied easily, shaking him off. "Any idea where I can find some TP?"

"Like you're against playing dirty. I'm just giving her a fighting chance."

"You're cheating."

Catching a glint of red out of the corner of his eye, House followed Cuddy out of the clinic and down the hallway. Something grazed his arm before he could lumber off in her direction, and he turned, irritated, expecting to find Wilson.

It was his patient. Seemingly once again filled with a false sense of immortality now that he knew death wasn't imminent, the kid winked, nodding in Cuddy's direction and wolf-whistling loudly. The sound echoed in the oddly empty hall, and Cuddy glanced over her shoulder, stopping when she saw him and turning.

The kid was gone, must have disappeared even before she had turned around. Cuddy's fixed stare was half shocked, mostly infuriated, and House did the only thing that could be done in this situation, repeating the kid's whistle with greater force and enthusiasm, letting the sound drag out even after she had already turned and continued walking away.

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**Thanks again for reading, and, if you have a second, please let me know what you thought!**


	4. Boy in the Girls' Bathroom

**Hello, all! As always, a huge thank you to everyone reading this, especially: rosannadawson, HouseM.D.FanForever, Eleanor J., Huddytheultimate, barqualounger, CaptainTish, loves2writestories, sunnyhell, Mix-Me-A-Martini, 7ala11, J Lesley, Little Lunar Wolf, huddyaddiction, AngelEyes2332, SmilinStar, Shikabane-Mai, and Merlynnod. You guys never fail to make me smile and your reviews are a tremendous help.**

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**Chapter 4: Boy in the Girls' Bathroom**

"Learn any good dead baby jokes yet?" House asked conversationally, hitting out a rhythm on the ground with his cane. Chase seemed torn between sycophantically laughing at this joke and cringing with distaste, so House continued. "C'mon. You've been up in the NICU for almost two days. What else do they joke about up there?"

"Surprisingly, very little joking goes on in the NICU."

House shook his head. "Some departments just don't have a sense of humor."

"I can't write your speech."

"I haven't even asked you yet."

"But you're going to. I talked to Cameron," Chase stated, folding his arms. "Shouldn't you've written it by now? The conference is tomorrow."

"I work better under pressure. Or at least my employees do." House did his best to look threatening. "When they still have jobs."

Chase just stared at him. "You can't fire me for not writing your speech."

Even muffled in a parade of other footsteps, a familiar, determined clicking pulled at House's attention. Cuddy had just turned the corner at the far end of the hall, a gaggle of med students in her wake. The fiery reds of yesterday had seemingly been too glaring, and she now donned gray and white, as if trying to camouflage herself with the surrounding monotony. She turned and dismissed the students surrounding her, the flock of first-year goslings scattering in one direction, while she marched in the other, vanishing into a room at the end of the hall

"You're right," House finally mused. "I can come up with something much better."

And with that, he left a slightly confused but unquestioning Chase behind him.

_Recess was over, and the schoolboy and girl were stifled by the oppression of forced knowledge and the hum of fluorescent lights. The girl had raised her hand and gotten permission to leave the classroom, and he had squirmed in his chair and been allowed to leave, too. Now, he stood pondering, staring up at the almost familiar sign on the door – no feet, no hands, the same disembodied, faceless circle that stood in for a head – except the stick-straight arms jutted out at an angle, the body forming a triangle rather than diving straight from arms to legs. With a quick glance up and down the hallway to make sure no one would see, he took a deep breath and held it as he pushed open the door._

House approached the door Cuddy had entered, reaching to open it at the same time as a middle-aged nurse. The woman gazed at him almost sympathetically for all of two seconds until her face registered recognition, her polite smile curling into a nasty glare. "You can't – "

"I have an appointment with the Dean," he explained, matter-of-factly, nodding at the door. "She just loves the acoustics in here."

The nurse mumbled something under her breath, which he ordinarily might have questioned or answered back to, but now was completely satisfied when she backed away and continued down the hall. House pushed open the door, nearly running right into another woman, who was clearly less than thrilled to see him, immediately, protectively, picking up the little girl standing at her side.

"You'll be in trouble," the child scolded. "No boys allowed."

They nudged past him, the mother hissing, "pervert," on her way out the door.

_The first thought that occurred to the schoolboy was that the sign had had it all wrong and this wasn't a bathroom at all. There was no place to stand to relieve yourself while you teased and compared, writing as many of the letters of your name (or hers) as you could before the pressure ran out behind the bright yellow stream. But then he heard the gurgle of a flushing toilet and the rattle as someone fumbled with a lock on a stall, and when the girl appeared and smiled, he forgot all about asking her exactly what girls had down there that was so different from boys that there was no option but to hide themselves away in one of the dreaded stalls._

House shuffled noiselessly into the room – empty but for one closed stall. A toilet flushed, and he leaned against the wall, waiting. The stall door squeaked open and Cuddy appeared. With a quick flick of his wrist, he stuck out his cane before she had a chance to glance up and see him in the mirror.

"You girls are really missing out without urinals." Still blocking her in the stall, he sidled around to face her. "Some of the best conversations I've ever had."

"God, House." The words lacked any surprise but were riddled with annoyance. She was getting tired. "I should have known."

"Since you're busy avoiding me, which is usually _my_ job, I thought I'd play _you_ and hunt you down."

He hadn't seen her since almost the same time yesterday, after she had strutted into the clinic and accused him of a crime that – for once – he hadn't committed. Although that, of course, hadn't meant he wouldn't take advantage of it, and he now had enough toilet paper to keep his bathroom at home stocked for the rest of the year.

"There is a vast difference between your avoiding me to keep from doing work and my not seeing you because I've had too much to do."

He didn't particularly think so. "You stood me up yesterday."

"Emergency Board meeting." She pushed his cane out of the way, slipping past him to the sink. "I left you a message."

"You know I don't check my messages." He stayed where he was, leaning back against the partition between two stall doors. "And my surveillance footage is a little grainy. It's hard to see that angry vein throbbing in your temple if I can't get within 100 feet of you."

_The schoolboy returned the girl's grin. She walked past him to the sink, and he ran to beat her to it, leaning his stomach on the edge of the porcelain to turn on the water. She didn't look at him at all while she washed her hands – filling one palm with pink soap and tipping it so that the liquid spilled into the other before rubbing them both together. He tried to catch her attention by making faces in the mirror – fish-lips, slanted eyes, a long frog's tongue, and puffed cheeks that he burst with two light smacks and a gratifying pop – but her careful attention to the sink and her wet hands was fantastic and infuriating. Just as he was beginning to lose all hope of impressing her, he found himself half-soaked in water._

"You've stalked me into the women's room," Cuddy replied curtly, catching on quickly and scowling at him in the mirror. "I think it's safe to say I'm still angry with you."

"How was I supposed to know you're not one of those women that gets turned on by this sort of thing?"

Her only answer was to glare at him – clearly he should have known better than to even _think_ such a question. She washed her hands as if taking out years of frustration and anger on any unsuspecting germs that tried to cling to them.

"Boy in the girls' bathroom," House continued. "Kinda sexy, don't you think?"

"You _would_ get off on that," she accused with a glare.

"You can't tell me _you_ don't." He risked a step towards her, but she was no longer looking. "Doesn't it bring you back to your days in Sweet Valley High? I bet you were locked in a stall between every class eating the face of a different jock."

"Only a few times, all during lunch, and none of them were on the football team," Cuddy answered, so immediately that it was impossible for him to tell if a word of it was true.

Placing a hand at the top of a stall, he shook it vigorously but it held up well. "Whaddya say, Cuddy? These stalls look sturdy enough to hold even _your_ weight. Wanna take a walk down memory lane and go a few rounds?"

Finally, Cuddy shut off the water, the sudden silence strange, but her voice cut through it quickly. "For the five minutes you'd be able to last? It wouldn't be worth it."

_The schoolgirl was grinning triumphantly, hands cupped under the running water as she refilled them, and the boys tried to push her away from the sink, quickly giving up and scrambling to turn on another. She shrieked when he hit her with the first spray of water, but she was giggling, too, and that sound made the schoolboy feel as if there were tiny wings on his feet lifting him up into the air._

House smirked, as Cuddy's mirrored eyes flicked to his. She had that no-nonsense look about her, but it was all too apparent that every muscle above her neck was strung as tightly as possible in the effort not to mimic his amusement. He had to hand it to her – she could fake anger well.

"Oh ye of little faith," he chastised, following her silently as she made her way to the paper towel dispenser.

"Better little faith than little something else," she muttered in return, and, oh, this was fun.

_The giggling of the schoolgirl was infectious, and soon the boy was laughing, too – though he struggled to the last to hang on to his tough-guy attitude. They were both wet and shivering. The drops of water glittered like little stars on the girl's skin, and there was a whole universe there that his fingertips were itching to reach out and touch, but she always scampered away from him._

House was right behind Cuddy now, and if she noticed, she was doing a fine job ignoring him. The moment couldn't have worked more perfectly if he had choreographed it himself. Cuddy dried her hands and turned without looking, running smack into his chest with a sharp intake of breath. Her palms, hot even through the cotton of his t-shirt, pressed hard against him.

The door opened at that exact instant, as if the jolt of their connection had triggered it. Two blue-haired, chattering women entered mid-conversation, the short one in the pink sweat-suit swinging out an arm to stop her counterpart when she saw them pressed together, placing her other hand over her heart, her permed hair quivering as a single, giant mass. "Oh my word! Beatrice!"

_Finally, the girl stopped, cornered, and the schoolboy was grinning like a fool. The laughter died down and the sound of the running water was like the ocean inside a seashell held up to his ear. He reached out to touch her, but suddenly there was screaming and he pulled his hand back. It wasn't either of them but two other girls, tattletales, and soon there was a teacher, too, frowning._

"Young man," Beatrice admonished with a wagging finger, squinting at House through her quarter-inch-thick glasses, "you shouldn't be in here."

"Long hours. She almost never sees the kids," House explained with an exaggerated pout, hooking an arm around Cuddy's waist and resting his chin on her shoulder for effect. She was trying to worm away, but he wasn't having it. He couldn't see it, but surely the look on her face was priceless. "Little Jimmy keeps asking when Mommy's gonna come home…."

Beatrice narrowed her eyes, seeming to doubt the validity of this story, but her short friend was charmed, and, luckily, quite persuasive. "Come on, Beatrice. Let's leave these two lovebirds alone. The ladies' room at the other end of the hall has much nicer…."

_The schoolboy darted across the room, because being caught in the girls' bathroom was one thing, but being accused of actually _liking _the girl within was something else altogether. There wasn't far to go, and the teacher soon had him by the ear. Normally, this would have been a moment for hot tears, anything to make it look like it wasn't his fault. But he wouldn't cry – not in front of her – and whatever punishment he was due became immediately worth it when the teacher took both of them by the shoulders and the boy's wet arm brushed up against the girl's on the way out the door. It tingled where he had touched her, his skin pimpling as the hair there stood on end – he mistook the feeling for being cold._

The door had closed completely before Cuddy jabbed him with her elbow. House couldn't say the gesture at all surprised him.

"I thought the point of your little game was for you to prove that I _couldn't_ stay mad at you."

"Short attention span. Right now, this is much more fun."

She flung up her hands as if giving up on him, was flushed, her hair flying, and he had to admit, he was loving this. "The last thing I need, House, is people assuming – "

"People wouldn't be so quick to assume if you'd spring for some co-ed bathrooms." Somehow he managed to slip past her, leaning lazily against the doorframe so she wouldn't be able to get through. "And you're confusing anger with sexual frustration. Common mistake."

She ignored his last comment completely, though her eye contact faltered, her gaze hitting somewhere under his elbow before returning sharply to his own. "They also wouldn't be so quick to assume if you'd stop making lewd comments."

"Where's the fun in that?"

Cuddy folded her arms, leveling her gaze. It was a glare he was sure had ended more than its share of arguments in the Boardroom – all in her favor. "You keep saying you want to talk. Your team isn't here, neither's Wilson, there are no patients, and no one can get in with you blocking the entire doorway. Talk."

"When there are so many more _re_-productive things we could be doing?"

"What do you want, House?" Cuddy sighed, her shoulders relaxing as she stepped closer towards him, probably already setting in place a strategy for reaching past him and pulling open the door.

Catching her question, House sent it spinning back to her without a thought, watching her every move carefully. "What are you willing to give me?"

Cuddy raised an eyebrow, flashing that coy, half-grin she always managed when trying not to smile at him at all. This time, her eyes only slunk a few inches away, slowly, resting on his lips before shooting back upward as if afraid of being caught.

His knowing, teasing smile was at the ready and he had a quip on the tip of his tongue, but neither of them had the chance to come fully into existence.

The Law of Attraction must have demanded sudden obedience and yanked at the both of them, because he hadn't stepped forward, and neither had she, but the distance between them was rapidly closing anyway. At the moment, the rationale behind this unexpected motion wasn't something he wanted to question: even though his chin slammed into the side of her head before he had the chance to dip it downward and Cuddy's muffled gasp was one-part frustration and two-parts pain, there was no denying that nothing could feel more right.

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**This chapter kind of wrote itself, and rather quickly (at least for me), so I hope it wasn't too painful. Thanks again for reading, and please review -- if the site has stopped acting up and lets you, of course. :)**


	5. A Warning

**Brilliant idea with the italics, gabiroba. I wrestled with the idea of switching over to that while writing the last chapter (or maybe it was the one before), though I have no idea what my logic against it was. Now, the kid parts will be easier to pick out for those who want to read them, and easier to skip for those who don't. Everybody wins!**

**As always, thanks so much to everyone, especially: loves2writestories, HouseM.D.FanForever, J Lesley, Merlynnod, Lilylynn, PaulaAbdulChica2007, mo, Wolf Maid, huddyaddiction, Mix-Me-A-Martini, rosannadawson, insanehouseaddict, barqualounger, Little Lunar Wolf, Huddytheultimate, Kish32, SmilinStar, 7ala11, AngelEyes2332, CaptainTish, gabiroba, HouseAddiction, and DaniBD. The response to this story continues to amaze me. You guys are awesome.**

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**Chapter 5: A Warning**

Being unexpectedly thrown so close to Cuddy had the same effect on House's mind that a sudden sandstorm has on the vision and direction of a wanderer in the desert. His usual whirring faculties were now chugging along a path that was like a page out of _Fun with Dick and Jane_: one basic sensory perception considered, repeated, and reinforced before he could move on to the next: _His chin hurt. His leg did not hurt. She did not hurt him. Her body was warm._

Cuddy brought a hand up to rub her head where his chin had slammed into it, but some other fingers beat her to it, and until he felt her sleek curls under her fingertips, he never would have thought they were his own. Her expression changed so rapidly, spanning an arched rainbow of emotions from one end to the other so quickly that it made _him_ dizzy, and she must have been positively reeling.

Repugnant – Offended – Yielding – Guilty – Bewildered – Intrigued – Vulnerable.

It was amazing all that could happen in the space between two blinks, the certainty of what would happen next so obvious that it was a textbook equation in elementary arithmetic.

Two plus two equals four. Proximity plus tidal surge of emotion equals...

_The rubber soles of the schoolboy's shoes hit against he wooden legs of the chair with a satisfying thump, thump, thump. He stopped when he saw the secretary frowning at him over the top of her cat-eye glasses, but quickly forgetting and beginning again. His own chair moved as the girl fidgeted next to him, staring up at the sign on the closed door before them with wide eyes, her bottom lip between what remained of her baby teeth. From the looks of it, this was her first time waiting outside the principal's office._

Something pushed much more insistently against House's back, forcing him further into Cuddy and her into the wall, though this time, at least, he knew enough to turn his head and prevent them both further injury. He finally realized it was the door.

And it was no less amazing – albeit much more annoying – how everything could switch gears in that instant it took to blink.

"Oh! I'm so sorry, I didn't… House!"

He didn't need to be facing the doorway to know who he'd find there. And from the looks of it, neither did Cuddy, who scowled so viciously at his chest that he could have sworn she could see straight through him. Mimicking her glare, House turned it at once on their intruder.

"I think that did just the trick: my leg really hasn't been hurting enough lately." He reached down to rub it, mostly for effect, though the ache had returned suddenly.

Cameron's eyes were wide but narrowed immediately. "What are you…?"

He could tell even before she had trailed off that her eyes had caught on Cuddy, her words catching on themselves and twisting into a shocked, self-righteous stutter.

_Under the pretense of finding a more comfortable position, the schoolboy shifted in his chair to get as close as possible to the girl beside him. He looked at her while pretending not to, thought he saw a tear slide down her nose and dive from its tip to her skirt below. When he placed a hand on the junction of their two chairs, it landed on hers, as he had hoped it would though he feigned ignorance of the fact. (When he grew older, he'd no doubt learn a less well-intentioned version of this move, featuring a darkened theater and the sudden urge to stretch, but for now, the action retained all innocence.) She didn't push his hand away._

Cuddy performed magnificently.

If House hadn't known her as well as he did, the raw ferocity in her eyes alone would have been completely capable of liquefying his insides. She swatted him out of the way and glared for good measure – not for one second letting the younger woman think that there was anything more to this than House's usual annoying antics.

That, of course, would have to be remedied, and House grinned mischievously at Cuddy before turning to Cameron. "It's no supply closet, but…."

Cameron paled – probably mostly out of embarrassment and some disbelief, but quite a bit more jealousy. Watching them both curiously, she backed slowly toward the door, feeling behind her for the handle. "I'll just – "

"No," Cuddy snapped, speaking to Cameron though her eyes never left him. "I think we're finished here."

"Are you sure?" House asked, continuing to lazily tread water though he knew the sharks were starved and circling. "Because, I didn't – "

"Shut up, House."

He ignored her completely, smirking at Cameron. "She gets so cranky when she's all hot and bothered."

"Out. Now."

And he didn't have much of a choice in the matter, because even before Cuddy had finished speaking, her fingers were wrapped around his elbow like a hawk's talons, and she yanked him from the room.

Déjà vu hit him nearly as hard as the force of his own body slamming against the wall in the hallway: a shopkeeper long ago all but picking him up by the shirt-collar and throwing him out onto the welcome mat, all over a few candy bars that had somehow found their way into his pocket.

"Jeez, Cuddy." The words sprung from surprise rather than annoyance, the strength behind her frustrated anger pitching lust and adrenaline through his veins.

_Then it no longer mattered to the schoolboy that – by elementary school standards – he was in imminent danger, the door to the dreaded principal's office liable to open at any second. All he could think of was the white fluff of dandelions, the silky fur of his neighbor's cat, warm towels straight from the dryer – all the things that, to this point, he would have thought the softest in the world. His own palm was itchy and beginning to sweat, and what was that his grandmother was always saying about snips and snails and puppy-dog tails? He forgot how to move when the door opened, but the schoolgirl slid her hand from under his, smiling as she slipped from the chair at the sound of her name. _

Cuddy was already yards down the hall and not looking back. But he hobbled quickly to catch up with her – for him, almost a run – and he was on the verge of sticking out his cane and hooking her with the end of it, even though he knew this would only serve to further vex her (maybe, in truth, because of it).

Seeming to sense his intentions, Cuddy spun quickly, and he was caught mid-motion and red-handed, cane suspiciously poised. She snatched it from him before it smacked against her. "What the hell were you trying to pull in there?" she hissed, but tiredly.

She had come to a stop just before the elevator, and if had she really wanted to avoid him, she would've taken the stairs. House grinned innocently, his tone anything but. "Wasn't it obvious?"

_When the schoolgirl returned once again – hours later, it seemed – her face was streaked with tears, but she flashed him a grin, amused and triumphant, as she passed. The principal smiled encouragingly after her, but when he turned to the boy, he was glowering, and the boy knew in an instant that he had been given up. With anyone else, such an obvious act of betrayal would've spelled an instant severance of all friendly ties on the playground. But for some reason, all the boy felt at that moment was relief and intrigue, a renewed burst of energy and an even more frantic need to corner and catch her._

Cuddy stepped away from him only long enough to hit the button for the elevator, the small circle blinding as it suddenly lit up, and she leaned his cane beside it. And then she was close again – no, closer, and leaning in still further, lowering her voice to almost a whisper that was at once teasing and treacherous. "Next time you want to try and seduce me, choose a better time and place."

"Is that an invitation?" House asked, the response automatic.

"A warning."

And the elevator arrived with a startling ding, but when the doors opened, Cuddy was gone already, down the stairs after all.

* * *

"Was that shirt _ironed_?" Wilson stepped into his office as House was tucking in a dress shirt he had pulled it on not moments before. "I didn't think you _owned _an iron." 

"I don't," House answered, sighing as he gave in to the inevitable and did up his top button. "But the Chinese lady at the Laundromat does. And she really knows how to take care of those wrinkles."

"You have no shame, do you?" Wilson stated, the sentence less of a question than it seemed.

"You really have to ask me that?"

Sighing and rolling his eyes – nearly a trademarked response – Wilson unceremoniously tossed a piece of fabric in House's general direction, mumbling, "Here."

_The schoolboy was safely back in the classroom, a sealed note that would have to be signed by his parents and returned tomorrow hatefully crammed into his backpack. It was time for deskwork and reading groups, the teacher's attention focused up front on a ring of the slowest readers, and though none of them were supposed to know that designation, they all did anyway. The boy felt the tip of a pencil stab him in the side._

The maroon paisley-patterned cloth landed on his desk, crumpling, and House stared at with as much contempt as if Wilson had scraped a rotting carcass off the road and presented it, uncooked and without so much as a sprig of parsley, as dinner. "I have a tie."

"One _without_ cartoon characters or half-naked women on it?"

"I'm _way_ too mature for that now," House scoffed.

"It's not that one with all the Clash album covers that you wore to the last benefit, is it?" Wilson demanded. "Cuddy'll have an aneurysm if – "

"Relax." He carefully scooped up Wilson's tie with the end of his cane, dropping it into the trashcan rather than into his friend's outstretched hand. "Though I might as well be wearing the Clash I have _that_ thing on."

Wilson plucked his tie from the trash with his thumb and forefinger, wrinkling his nose before stowing it back into his pocket. "Forgive me for thinking you'd actually wear a _white_ shirt like a normal person."

"This one makes me look almost nice," House insisted, securing his own tie under the sky blue shirt in question and glancing at his watch. He was supposed to have been in Cuddy's office five minutes ago.

Shrugging on his jacket and grabbing his cane, he started out the door and down the hall, Wilson following him like a lost puppy, waiting for a few moments before finally making his errand known. "So…. You and Cuddy yesterday..."

_An undiscovered flaw in the teacher's militantly executed boy-girl seating plan had plunked the schoolboy down in the seat behind the girl, and his best friend diagonally behind him. The girl was twirling her hair around her finger, the motion hypnotic. Again, the pencil jabbed him, and the boy jumped. The anxious whisper was the same as always: What's the answer to number…?_

House grimaced. "Remind me next week to fire Cameron."

"You wouldn't fire Cameron. If it were Foreman – "

"Nah, he's got Affirmative Action on his side. Chase, maybe."

Wilson pulled him to a halt a few feet from another pair of doctors House vaguely recognized – Radiology and Orthopedics, if he was correctly remembering where he had last seen the stupid looks on their faces. They were shooting furtive glances in his direction, not particularly trying to hide their obvious astonishment at his upgraded wardrobe.

Aware of their audience, Wilson lowered his voice, but letting the subject drop completely would, of course, have been too much to ask. "What were you doing following her into the bathroom?"

"Confused the sign on the door."

_Seven, the schoolboy answered softly without looking back, only tearing his attention away from the girl and the dark strands twisted around her finger when his friend quietly yelped that this wasn't a math ditto. The boy felt his cheeks start to burn as he hastily erased the series of numbers from the lines where vocabulary words were supposed to have gone._

"Confused the sign on the door and then made out with her behind it?" Incredulous, Wilson had forgotten to whisper – Radiology and Orthopedics were going to be buzzing.

House pulled away and continued walking, mumbling out of the corner of his mouth. "I never kiss and tell."

Wilson snorted, barely concealing laughter. "Yes, you have."

"This time," House muttered, reaching into his jacket pocket for his Vicodin, "there's nothing to tell." He swallowed the pills, savoring their bitterness as they slid down his throat. "What's with the first-degree?"

"You're playing a dangerous game, House."

"I'm not the one irritating the man holding what, in some countries, might be considered a weapon." He tried to brandish his cane menacingly, but Wilson simply batted it out of the way

"Talk to her, House."

"When I want advice, I'll write Dear Abby."

"You know you have to…. Wow."

And there was no retort for that. They had just approached Cuddy's office and the view had them both momentarily stymied. Cuddy was bent over her desk, hurriedly scribbling her signature on some last-minute papers that a nurse was laying before her.

Her dress was the exact blue of midnight, served to heighten the color of her eyes to such an extent that even at such a distance and without direct eye contact, they almost had him bewitched. Of course, the cut and flow of the fabric wasn't helping matters much: pulling and clinging and streaming every place it should have. And probably even places that some might think it shouldn't, for someone in Cuddy's position and profession – but anyone who dared to even breathe anything to that effect would have been the sudden unwitting object of an irritable, impatient, cane-wielding diagnostician's wrath.

_The slow reading group had stuttered its way to the end of the story and the teacher was standing. Pencils down and it was time to pass the papers forward, but the schoolboy hadn't had time to fill any of the correct answers in. The girl turned, the boy avoiding her glance. But instead of grabbing his paper, a finger with a red-painted nail was pointing at each of the questions, and the girl's voice was whispering: hat, bat, mat, sat, cat, pat…._

Wilson launched into a hasty coughing fit – faked – and mumbled an excuse to leave. Swallowing, House pushed open the door with his cane and banged inside.

"You're late," Cuddy observed without looking up.

"I'm looking for the Dean of Medicine," House announced, hobbling up to her. "About your height, usually a face like this…." He screwed his features into a sour, contorted expression.

Cuddy ignored him, so he continued, coming so close that she was forced to move around her desk, her signature slipping. "That's so weird. You have almost _exactly_ the same cleavage…." Leaning in, he dodged her hand when she tried to swat him away, studying her chest closely. "Aha!"

_Swiftly, the boy scribbled the words she recited, his pencil breaking. The girl gave him hers, and he almost couldn't write at all, studying the teeth marks on the bright pink paint. Somehow he finished, didn't have time to grin in thanks as she grabbed her pencil and his paper, passing it forward just as the teacher was beginning to question exactly what was going on back there._

House's sudden exclamation made Cuddy flinch, the pen falling from her hand. Standing at his full height, he shook his head in mock disappointment. "Thought you could outwit me with one of your clever disguises…. It'll take more fabric than that to camouflage those babies."

Cuddy finally made eye contact, folding her arms carefully over her chest. "Cute, House."

"Glad we figured _that_ one out before it got too awkward," House stated, glancing peevishly at the nurse as if he had just realized she was there. "You can leave now."

Sighing and obviously hating to do so, Cuddy nodded at the woman, her gesture in agreement with House, but the expression on her face an apology. Red-faced, the nurse hurriedly gathered the scattered files and left, carefully shutting the door behind her.

Cuddy opened her mouth to speak, but closed it quickly, staring warily at House as he stood back, not hiding the path of his eyes as they raked up and down her body, lingering on the teasing shadows playing underneath her dress in the slit up her thigh and the valley between her breasts. "Guess the bike's out."

He thought he saw her blush, but it might just have been a trick of the light. "Was never an option."

_The teacher was struggling to reach the string that would unfurl the map of the world. The girl peered over her shoulder, smiling sweetly, and his hand felt warm where he had touched hers earlier and held the pencil she had been writing with just moments before. He heard someone nearby snicker, but really he didn't care at all. No one could taunt openly in the confines of the classroom, and there was even a chance that by lunchtime, this would all be forgotten. The boy tried to grin back at her, but couldn't – his mouth was already smiling._

House's feet shuffled forward almost of their own accord, and he saw Cuddy tremble, not sure whether she was fighting the impulse to move forward or back. Whatever the intention, it didn't matter; she stood her ground.

He grinned, his eyebrows raising. "That offer from yesterday still stand?"

* * *

**I promise House and Cuddy will get their break...eventually. Thanks again for reading! Please review if you have a second -- I'd love to hear what you thought!**


	6. There's Always Room for JellO

**Thanks so much for reviewing, CaptainTish, lilylynn, HouseM.D.FanForever, AngelEyes2332, mo, DaniBD, J Lesley, Shikabane-Mai, Abbyannmd, huddyaddiction, abc2, Mix-Me-A-Martini, Trinity87, Huddytheultimate, insanehouseaddict, Eleanor J., diesanften, loves2writestories, Kish32, gabiroba, 7ala11, Merlynnodd, Scarlet O'Haraa, and HouseAddiction! You all are amazing!**

**I've been picking this chapter apart for days and still haven't managed to get it quite right, but I've decided to post it and move on to the next one (which is the one I've been waiting to write all along). Here goes...**

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**Chapter 6: There's Always Room for Jell-O**

Cuddy didn't break eye contact, and though her near-smirk told him she knew _exactly_ what he was talking about, House decided to feign ignorance, just to make everything that much more crystal clear. "Different time, different place…."

The tip of her tongue danced across her lips, so quickly that if he blinked, he might have missed it. Her eyes tore from his, and she seemed for the first time to be taking in all of him: clean, dressed, and pressed, wearing the same shirt that she had once told him matched his eyes.

"_Different_ does not necessarily constitute _better_." Her tone was that of a teacher scolding a smart-talking student, but House hadn't missed the way she'd had to bite her bottom lip to keep from smiling.

He cocked his head, smirking. "Still going at it?"

"They're your terms, not mine." Lunging, Cuddy grabbed her purse from the edge of her desk and ducked around him. He was more than happy to stand back and watch the view as she sashayed to the door, turning back when she seemed to sense that he wasn't behind her. "We're going to be late."

"Not the way I drive." Taking the door that she held open for him, House ushered Cuddy through.

She eyed him oddly for a moment but finally walked past him, nodding in thanks, and lingered to lock the door. "You're not driving."

_Today was macaroni and cheese – lumpy and rubbery and orange – good if you ate it quickly enough and forgot what the kind out of the box at home tasted like. The schoolboy could see the girl in line ahead of him. She had placed a carton of white milk on her tray, whereas he would take chocolate when it came his turn to decide, but they both had his favorite flavor of Jell-O – red. Peas were mandatory to take, but not to eat, and while his usually joined thousands of others in the trash can, he knew from weeks of longing, lingering looks from the other side of the lunch room that the girl would mix hers with the macaroni._

Cuddy repeated the words at various intervals as they traipsed outside the building, yet by the time they had approached her car, House had secured both her keys and her grudging permission to take the wheel.

His immediate coup of the radio – classic rock, volume so loud that the music's rhythm was more vibrating than the car's engine – prevented any conversation, and Cuddy must've approved of that aspect at least, because she neither adjusted the volume nor changed the station. She remained white-knuckled for most of the twenty-minute drive to Trenton, though she at least refrained from his mother's annoying habit of pumping in vain on a brake pedal that simply did not exist on the passenger's side of the car.

When they reached their destination, the sky had darkened ominously. House silenced Pink Floyd and pocketed Cuddy's keys. She looked fiercely at him, but didn't say a word, storming quickly into the building and leaving him to follow as quickly as he could, just as the first fat drops of actual rain were beginning to fall.

_The schoolboy passed a handful of change to the wheezy old lunch lady at the end of the line, who coughed on the money while she counted it. Carrying his tray carefully into the din of the cafeteria, he spotted the girl – her back to him – sitting at a table all alone. He picked his way carefully through the crowds and tables, and it came as a complete shock when his shin came into contact with something solid, sending him soaring through the air._

The woman next to Cuddy – the definitely-cheating wife of a downright creepy gynecologist – seemed oblivious of the fact that the rest of the table had ostracized the two doctors to her right not long after they had taken their seats. Mrs. Gynecologist was currently treating Cuddy to long, rambling tales – complete with photographs – of her three children, at least one of which had unquestionably _not_ been fathered by the man sitting next to her.

"You just _had _to open your mouth," Cuddy whispered angrily, the arrival of the first plates having finally silenced the gynecologist's wife.

"Seriously?" House stared at her, jerking his head at the man to his right, who was deeply involved in a no-doubt scintillating conversation. "This guy introduces himself as a pharmacist _and_ _herbalist_, and you expect me _not_ to politely debate that?"

"There was nothing _polite_ about calling him a quack."

"Is charlatan more PC nowadays? I can never keep track…." He tried for apologetic and turned, poised to grab the pharma-herbalist's attention in order to rectify such an unthinkable breach of protocol.

"Don't," Cuddy reprimanded sharply, seizing his hand but letting go just as quickly, murmuring an apology to a waiter when her unexpected gesture nearly caused the poor boy to drench the entire table in ice water as he was refilling their glasses. "At least _try_ not to offend anyone else until _after_ dinner."

_Peas and cubes of Jell-O went flying through the air like a squad of paratroopers given the order to jump. The macaroni was stickier – some of it slopping over the edge of the tray, and some up his nose as he landed face-first. The offending sneaker was quickly withdrawn from the aisle, but he recognized its owner's snicker._

A few jabs with a fork determined that the "prime rib" was more gristle than anything, the accompanying potatoes lumpy and tasteless, and the limp stalks of asparagus something that House wouldn't consider eating even under normal circumstances. Cuddy didn't seem to be faring much better. Her plate contained something stuffed that he couldn't readily identify, and she had done little more than cut it into smaller and smaller pieces.

The presentations had begun, the current speaker deciding to treat them to an in-depth history on prostate research, and as he had failed to mention any of its more exciting sexual ties during the first half-hour of droning, House had tuned him out, opting to rely on his own uncanny ability to perceive such audio cues as _orgasm_ and _stimulation_ to let him know when it was even halfway worth paying attention.

Glancing at Cuddy, the picture of perfect attention beside him, House surreptitiously scooted his chair closer to hers. "You didn't tell me I was gonna have to listen to _other_ people talk."

"Quiet," Cuddy hissed, starting as she tilted her head toward the sound of his voice and her forehead nearly brushed against his. She leaned sideways to compensate, sliding her chair a few inches to the left when he refused to take the hint and move back. "You'll get your turn."

"I know a way we can make this more interesting…." He grinned iniquitously, finding her heel with the toe of his shoe and following its path upward. He had staked a claim a few inches up the back of her calf before she stopped him, shaking his foot off her leg.

_Wiping the cheese from his face with his sleeve, the schoolboy reached for his unopened carton of milk and picked up himself and his tray, arms shaking with more embarrassment than anger, because the cafeteria was eerily silent now and the whole world was looking at him – inside, outside, even through the lunch room walls. Puffing up his chest with more courage than he thought he had, the schoolboy faced the other boy, who was still sniggering even though _he_ was the one with glasses. What little of his macaroni hadn't ended up on the floor was very nearly smeared all over the other boy's glasses – the schoolboy had one arm at the ready, hand hovering over his tray. But then fingers were on his elbow and the girl was behind him, leading him away._

"Don't even think about it," Cuddy whispered, but her tone was almost desperate.

"Too late," House murmured, his mouth practically pressed against her ear, and he thought he heard her breath catch as his foot made contact again, higher this time, and it would only be a matter of time until he trespassed beyond her knee and began mapping the uncharted territory under her dress.

His antics were well-hidden by the floor-length tablecloth, but the grimace when she stabbed him in the shin with one swift backwards kick of a stiletto was much more difficult to conceal. He grunted in pain, the herbalist turning long enough to frown and Mrs. Gynecologist patting Cuddy on the back and asking if she was all right.

"Where's your sense of adventure?" House teased casually through gritted teeth, trying to act as if she hadn't hurt him, inwardly wondering if she had drawn blood.

"Back on the highway," Cuddy sarcastically responded. It was obvious that she hadn't bought his tough-guy act, but she wasn't about to offer him any sympathy either. "You're _not _driving home."

"Only way you're getting your keys back is if you fight me for 'em."

He had to physically bite his tongue to keep from adding specifics: wrestling – up close and pressed together, their verbal spats taken to a physical level – and preferably in some sort of interesting, slippery medium: mud, Jell-O, even plain water would do if it meant the flimsy material of her dress would cling to her the way he was sure nature intended.

"I'm pretty sure I could take you," Cuddy glibly replied. "I could definitely outrun you."

And if she had at all been able to read his thoughts, she would not have chosen that moment to reach for her water glass. His grin must've been colossal.

_The schoolboy sat, ears burning red, the anger like a lion growling inside him (or maybe that was hunger, and he no longer had much of a lunch). His feet were on the bench, one arm around his knees and chin resting between them. Zooming the few leftover noodles around his tray with the tip of his finger, he tried not to hear the taunts behind him, but they were so loud: _good thing your little girlfriend was there to save you…. _It just wasn't fair._

"I fight dirty."

"Not if you know what's good for you, you don't," Cuddy murmured, peering at him over the already-tilted glass before sipping it slowly.

"Like you wouldn't've aimed that kick of yours a little higher if you thought you could've gotten away with it."

Her lips twitched as she tried and failed to stop her smile from fully blooming, matching the slight, split-second tremble of her hand as she set her water safely back on the table. "You would've deserved it. Don't think that just because – "

"… of Diagnostics at Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, Dr. Gregory House."

House recognized the sudden intrusion as the overly-chipper voice of the emcee. He had never been more disappointed to hear a boring lecture come to an end.

Using Cuddy's shoulder as leverage, putting much more of his weight on it than necessary but careful not to hurt her, House rose from his chair and caught her eye. "Hold that thought. Fifteen minutes, right?"

He was able to look at her seriously for all of two seconds before winking comically, squeezing her shoulder without thinking and plodding towards the front of the room. He smirked to himself, knew she was frowning behind him, and if he had looked back at just that moment, he might have seen Cuddy bring a hand up to her shoulder where his had just been, quickly hiding the gesture by rubbing the back of her neck.

_A plastic fork entered the boy's field of vision. It was the girl's, and he took it because there didn't seem to be anything else to do. They like to be mean, the girl said. Or something like that; the boy nodded, and it didn't matter that he hadn't heard her because he'd agree with anything she said. He lowered his knees, so he could see her out of the corner of his eye. She was holding her cup of Jell-O, slowly scraping the dollop of whipped cream off with her spoon._

Rather than taking the few steps at the end of the small platform to the podium, House turned just before the center of the stage, pausing to zero in on Cuddy and holding her gaze as he hoisted himself up. He was seated on the stage floor, feet dangling over the edge. If Cuddy had paled or her eyes pleaded, he might have reconsidered his next move.

But she glared. And it wasn't horrified, but a warning – in his book, as good as a dare.

House broke eye contact long enough to turn to the master of ceremonies, who – not having anyone to give over the podium to – had remained confusedly standing behind it. Raising his cane and waving it lightly, House shrugged in a mock apology that was good enough to be mistaken for the real thing and mouthed, _stairs_, before turning toward the crowded banquet hall and shouting, "Can you hear me in the back?"

His audience stared confusedly back at him, whispering to one another behind napkins and cupped hands. But he only had eyes for one of them.

There was no denying that Cuddy was an attractive woman, and not in the least because she was generally a force to be reckoned with. But all dressed up, her arms folded tightly across that too-perfect chest, her eyes smoldering as she attempted to mold him into submission with the heat of her gaze alone….

If he hadn't already preferred the so-called fairer sex, it would've been enough to convert him.

_Lapping at the whipped cream carefully, like a cat licking cream, the girl placed the Jell-O cup in front of him and went back to her macaroni and peas without a word. The taunts behind the boy had diminished, or maybe it was just that he no longer heard them. Years and years later, even after the boy had grown and this innocent crush coalesced with the haze of other distant memories, there would still be nothing in the world to him sweeter-tasting than red cubes of Jell-O eaten out of a small, plastic cup._

And he had her right where he wanted her – glaring, fuming, _almost_ threatening. What was anger but passion, slightly mis-channeled and flaming all the higher for it?

Smiling at Cuddy as her frown grew more furious, House hooked his cane on the edge of the stage and settled back for his fifteen-minute speech. "Anybody got a stopwatch?"

* * *

**Thanks for sticking with the story this far, everyone, and please let me know what you thought, if you have a chance. You guys have been just wonderful, and reviews always help chapters write themselves faster. :)**


	7. Instants Interrupted

**You guys are wonderful! Thanks so much for reviewing, Eleanor J., Shikabane-Mai, J Lesley, lslazybones, 7ala11, AngelEyes2332, PaulaAbdulChica2007, mandy9578, sav, mo, A. Heiden, gidget89, glicine, huddyaddiction, insanehouseaddict, SnowySleigh, Mix-Me-A-Martini, DaniBD, rosannadawson, Snivellusly Ozalan, HouseM.D.FanForever, Merlynnod, abc2, CaptainTish, Lilylynn, HouseAddiction, luvgd, Scarlet O'Haraa, SmilinStar, gabiroa, and barqualounger! Seriously, I can't thank you enough! All your great replies really sped this chapter along.**

**Believe it or not, Cuddy's first line here and about half-a-second at the end were the impetus for this whole story (took me long enough to get there, didn't it?). Anyway, before it takes any longer...**

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**Chapter 7: Instants Interrupted**

"… what one of the reasons for short-term memory loss is? Venereal dis– "

_Beep! Beep! Beep!_

Briefly, House made eye contact with the pimply-faced waiter, who turned off his watch's alarm, grinning hugely. Mid-word or not, House's fifteen minutes were up, and having fulfilled his obligation of speaking for _at least_ that long, he eased himself off the stage without another word.

What little applause he received came from an overly enthusiastic Mrs. Gynecologist, the teenaged wait staff, and those members of the audience who clearly hadn't been paying attention and quickly stopped clapping when they realized no one else was joining in.

Cuddy had broken eye contact only a few minutes into House's "speech" and although his eyes had never left hers, she had absolutely refused to look at him again, almost visibly relieved when the stopwatch had signaled that his time was up. Now, she was standing, glancing apologetically at her watch when the gynecologist's wife caught her arm, and no doubt concocting some inane but wholly believable excuse about pressing duties left unfulfilled.

She left so quickly, that he blinked and she was nearly out of the room. House followed, crossing the lobby and opening the outside door to the deafening roar of torrential rain. It was as if science had gone haywire, damning the logic of the water cycle and dumping whatever liquid it could over them so that the air itself was nearly fluid.

Cuddy powered through it as gracefully as if part of the storm herself – in heels and a cocktail dress, no less. Even at a distance and through the blur of the rain, House realized that his earlier wet-wrestling fantasy had been spot-on: no one should look so enticing slogging through puddles and soaked to the skin.

_The schoolboy bolted onto the playground, his mouth still singing of the aftertaste of sugar and the fake flavor of cherry, sickeningly sweet. The girl hadn't yet finished eating, but his sneakered feet were carrying him outside anyway, because it was after-lunch recess was too short already and there wasn't a second to waste. He hung by his knees on the monkey bars while he waited, until his head felt hot and heavy, and didn't the big kids say it would fall off if you stayed upside-down for too long? _

Only when Cuddy had reached the car and pounded a fist angrily on the door before slumping slightly against it, did House realize he had been gawking and remember he had her keys.

Fishing them out of his pocket, he hit the unlock button, the car squawking as if disgruntled at having been disturbed. Cuddy stiffened, and he knew it wasn't at the sound but his presence behind her. Her hand slipped as she reached for the door handle, finally finding it and disappearing into the driver's seat. House pulled his jacket up over his head with one arm and trailed after her.

He let himself into the car and hunkered down in the passenger's seat with a muttered curse at the weather. They sat in a chilly and uncomfortably wet silence made all the more apparent by the ceaseless hammering of the rain. House rubbed his thigh mechanically, turning so he faced her and resting his back against the car door.

Cuddy's arms were wrapped around herself tightly to ward off the cold, her goose-pimpled skin glowing palely in the beam of the half-dead streetlight that flickered just outside the car. He would've offered her his jacket if it weren't just as wet as she was, but whether she would have accepted this weak attempt at a peace offering was something else entirely. Even in profile, the gleam in her eyes was dangerous, and she stared so intently at the windshield that he was surprised it didn't crack.

To be the first to speak would be on about the same level as deliberately volunteering himself for a bloodthirsty general's next kamikaze mission. Movement, as attention-grabbing as it was, was also somewhat risky, but he could never back fully away from a challenge. Leaning carefully forward, he placed her keys in the ignition.

As expected, the motion stirred her, and House took it as a good sign when she didn't automatically bare her teeth and begin snarling. Cuddy slowly lowered her hands into her lap with a sigh. "Was there _any_ part of that that pertained to an actual case?"

_The boy didn't have time to ponder how long was too long, because right at that moment, the girl skipped out the door. She didn't see him, or pretended not to, though he swung wildly from the jungle gym with outstretched arms. He frowned as she pranced past, scrambling up and slipping down a slide that came between her and a game of four-square._

Her voice was treacherously calm, almost sweet. It was his move, and he did what came naturally. "Your definition of actual…?"

"Does _not_ include movie quotes or plots from _General Hospital_."

And _that_ was more like the tone he had anticipated – businesslike, but biting. It was risky to cross her, but of course he would anyway. "It wouldn't kill you to be a little more open-minded."

"_My_ car," she answered, placing a hand on the keys before he could snatch them back. "I can still make you walk home."

"No you couldn't," he pointed out simply. "Jiminy Cricket'd keep you up all night. Should've squashed the little bugger years ago when he first learned to chirp."

She didn't have a retort for that, turning the keys coolly in the ignition so the engine hummed to life, the car radio blaring. Rage pulsating from her in waves, Cuddy shifted into gear and began to back out. Though the parking lot better fulfilled the definition of _pond_, House sure as hell wasn't going to be the one to stop her.

As they started down the street, Steven Tyler began shrieking _Dream On_, as if trying to prove a point.

They hadn't been driving for very long at all – five minutes, ten, maybe. House kept track of the time by the songs on the radio and the number of times he could see her blink in the lights overhead. He should have known that Cuddy would take as easily to driving in the rain as she did managing her hospital, which is why the sudden sound – like a gunshot – made his heart leap into his throat.

_The schoolboy sprang to the ground and followed her, forgetting to watch where he was going and stumbling into a frenzied and unforgiving game of freeze-tag. 'It' got angry when he refused to stay in place, and the schoolboy might have pushed her, but it was only to stop her from slapping him and trying to scream to the world that he was 'It.' He kept his eyes on the girl, smoothly making her way around the four-square court, giggling._

The car swerved wildly, but only for a moment, before they slowed to a stop on the side of the road.

Cuddy's knuckles were white on the steering wheel, and he could hear her shaky intake and release of breath even over the noise of the radio. His hand found her shoulder easily enough, her skin cold as ice, but, of course, sheer force of habit compelled _Are you all right? _into, "Complain all you want, but when _I _drove, we didn't blow out a tire."

He regretted the words instantly when she shook off his hand, throwing her own into the air in a gesture of frustration. "Dammit."

"Cuddy…." The tone was unusually soft, even to his own ears, and he tried to reach out to her again, but a two-second brush with death was not about to make him forget that she still had a reason to be angry with him, and she swatted him away.

Instead he reached above them and flicked on the light in time to see the tremble of her hand as she fished her cell phone out of her purse, frowning. "No signal," she resignedly muttered after a moment, still refusing to look at him. "You?"

_She was good – for a girl – and the four-square game moved quickly. The schoolboy entered the first square just as it was her turn to serve. The red rubber ball pinged against the asphalt, the sound hollow and echoing, and he loved the stinging smack of the rough rubber against his palms._

He yanked his own phone out of his pocket, stared at the four bars on the small screen and starting to dial automatically. "Yeah."

"_You better not be in the middle of your speech right now,_" Wilson's voice crackled in his ear. As House watched Cuddy worry her bottom lip between her teeth, her fingers fiddling with the wet fabric of her dress, he realized he had a split-second decision to make, one that really didn't take any thought at all. "_House?... Where _are_ you? Is everything – _"

His finger on the power button cut Wilson off, and House managed to pull the phone away from his ear with a look of confusion, finally grumbling in a voice that he hoped sounded aggravated, "But no battery."

Cuddy scowled darkly, but didn't turn to face him.

"I'd say another car'll drive by eventually, but on _this_ road..."

"I was trying to avoid construction on 1 North," she moaned tiredly.

"Congratulations. I think you managed it." The need to shout over the rain and the music made it sound harsher than it should have, but at least he had succeeded in finally forcing her to face him.

It was almost strange when the look she shot him – so clearly murderous – didn't cause instant death, or at the very least some sort of physical pain or temporary paralysis. The odd tingling sensation he was left with had nothing at all to do with pain and everything with pleasure – surely the polar-opposite of what she had intended. He looked away.

_Back and forth the ball bounced, from her hands to his, until both of them were breathless. Someone grumbled, and the sentiment was taken up by a chorus of nearby voices – annoyed, jealous, bored. And all too quickly, everyone was jostling for a turn in the game, and somebody pushed him – hard._

Somehow, he hadn't heard her open the door, but suddenly it slammed and he was alone in the car. Cursing the irrationality of women even while he knew neither of them could possibly get any wetter, he followed Cuddy out into the deluge, leaving his cane inside and leaning heavily on the car as he limped towards the back.

Cuddy was flashing red as she rummaged through her trunk, and it was the glow of the hazard lights, not an outward manifestation of her rage.

"It's a little damp out here," House shouted over the roar of the rain, but Cuddy ignored him or else she hadn't heard. He sat on her bumper, and she couldn't pretend not to notice the way the car dipped and bounced under his weight. "Gotta tow truck in there? Or a boat?"

_It didn't matter that the schoolboy hit the pavement elbow-first or that he was sure it was skinned, because the weight of the push had forced the ball away from him much too fast. It shot from his hands and leapt into the air as if possessed, flying straight for the girl and hitting her hard in the face._

Cuddy stumbled, and House saw her sigh more than heard it. She stood on one foot and removed a shoe, faltering, half-flailing as balance evaded her once again. Her hand found his shoulder to steady herself, and he welcomed the pressure, the loss of it even colder than her fingers had been when she pulled away, throwing her ruined heels unceremoniously into the trunk before answering curtly, "Jack."

"Seriously?" He didn't try at all to conceal the hint of laughter, and she paused her search long enough to turn back and glare. "I don't know which is less likely: that you've got a guy stashed back there or that you're actually gonna try to change a tire."

"Tire," came Cuddy's muffled, clearly aggravated reply as she leaned further into the trunk. "I'm not incompetent."

"_Why_ didn't I bring a camera to this thing?"

Cuddy was obviously struggling to reach the tire jack wedged in the corner of her trunk, but the perfect view her position afforded him of her ass made him a singularly unhelpful individual – a point which Cuddy had picked up on even if oblivious to its cause.

"If you're not going to be helpful, at least be quiet."

_The schoolboy himself had received the same ruthless blow enough times to know that a rubber ball to the nose really didn't hurt as much as the sound made it seem, and the girl hadn't cried out at all. Still, he stood, furious, and five fingers were pointing in opposite directions as all those around him tried to deflect the blame. The boy didn't need the real culprit, just the feeling of satisfaction that accompanied the sweet taste of revenge, and his fist connected with the first solid mass it found._

Taking the hint, House was enough of a gentleman to stand and assist her, though chivalry alone couldn't keep his palm from cupping her rear-end as he pretended to fumble for purchase on the car's bumper. "You're not mad at me."

Cuddy bristled, and he smiled to himself, knew she wouldn't believe that when he had reached for the jack, his hand had covered hers purely by accident. They heaved at the object together, but Cuddy let go once it had reached the edge of the trunk, forcing his own fingers from it as well. She straightened, and House followed her lead and peered down at her, had forgotten how small she was without her heels.

"_Mad_ cannot even begin to describe – "

"Give it up, Cuddy." He tilted his head, smiling sweetly. "You can fake it pretty well, but I'm famous for giving the real thing."

His sexual innuendos no longer seemed to throw her, and it was almost a pity, because that flabbergasted look of indignation had been priceless. "You couldn't have cooperated for fifteen minutes?"

"Why would I have wanted to do that?"

"Respect. Dignity. Your job." She rolled her eyes as he made a face at each option, pulling a tire iron out of the trunk and shoving it into his stomach. "My God, you're an ass."

He took it from her, grinning as she reached back inside the trunk for the jack. "Pretend anger's a good look for you."

"Knock it off, House."

"What – headache? Not in the mood?" he scoffed. "I _know _it's not that time of the month."

And this, at least, was enough to force something of a reaction. Cuddy stilled, the muscles in her back tensing.

"If you wanted someone to put thought into a speech, sit pretty next to you and make polite conversation while pretending the food didn't suck, you would've asked Wilson or one of my lackeys. Instead – "

_The "oomph" from his victim was more startled than pained, and the boy didn't turn to see who he had struck as he found the girl's hand and hightailed it across the playground. She didn't resist, and they were fugitives together now, which was infinitely better than being safe from blame but alone._

Cuddy had spun quickly, a hand flying out and grabbing at the loosened knot of his tie to yank him down to her. The kiss was split-second and sloppy, his mouth connecting just above hers and sliding desperately downward without any guidance from his still-reeling mind – which hadn't had enough sense yet to tell his eyes to close, though he couldn't see anyway, for the water in them and the sudden explosion of stars.

In a word, it was perfection – rain, tire iron, and all.

Cuddy's hand was splayed across his chest as she pushed him a few mile-long inches away and stared up at him, trying to look cross. "Is that really the only way to shut you up?"

For perhaps the first time that night, his impulse to tease, was checked, and if a retort managed to make its way past his lips it was pressed too tightly against hers to be heard. He tangled a hand through her wet hair, dropping his mouth back to hers and deepening this kiss almost before it had begun, and as Cuddy surged up on her tiptoes, he thought he heard her whimper.

They were illuminated for a moment by the glow of approaching headlights, a car slowing and some oblivious person leaning out the window and shouting an offer to help. House waved them away and pulled Cuddy closer.

She tried to protest, weakly – it _was _the first car they had seen. "House…."

He silenced her quickly, wrenching his lips from hers to press a kiss behind her ear that had her arching against him. "Quiet, woman."

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**Finally. :) As always, thanks for reading. I'd love to hear what you all thought, if you have a chance, and I hope this didn't disappoint. There's still more to come...**


	8. Rubbing It In

**Have I mentioned lately how awesome you guys are? Thanks so much Shikabane-Mai, Scarlett O'Haraa, gidget89, huddyaddicted, DaniBD, abc2, Mix-Me-A-Martini, AngelEyes2332, glicine, Huddytheultimate, singsongyylove, rosannadawson, mandy9578, J Lesley, HouseAddiction, Snivellusly Ozalan, HouseM.D.FanForever, Inu-midoriko, SmilinStar, SnowySleigh, CaptainTish, Kish32, Lily, loves2writestories, cybercat08, barqualounger, 7ala11, Lilylynn, Trinity87, insanehouseaddict, sunnyhell, huddytilidie, and HolidayArmadillo – it really means a lot that you guys take the time to review. **

**Apologizing in advance – the end of this chapter kept trying to fight me, and I'm still not quite sure who won. **

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**Chapter 8: Rubbing It In**

Cuddy signed his paychecks, allowed him authorization on procedures, saved his job and his ass on too many occasions to count – and even some that he wasn't even aware of. Simply: she outranked him and _almost_ never let him forget it, while he ignored, disobeyed, and defied her on a regular basis. To think that Cuddy's will would immediately bend to his with little more than a command was almost laughable. That didn't mean he wouldn't do his damndest to try.

House rarely found his mouth more persuasive when it wasn't churning out sarcastic comments, but he took full advantage of this sudden, silent power, kissing Cuddy even as she tried again to protest.

"You just… the car…"

She was stubborn as ever, but he knew just how to sway her. Silence in him was uncharacteristic to the point of being unsettling – like a too-quiet child that just had to be up to no good. Their cyclical give-and-take was all that ever kept them going, and with nothing to fight against, she would be impelled to surrender.

"…House…."

His name was a tacked-on murmur to some half-formed thought that she had tried to whine but instead stretched out almost endlessly, on the tail-end of a moan. He chuckled against her lips as she finally, thankfully, gave in – her tongue scorching, sexy, and half-a-second of this was worth every gloriously aggravating moment of their never-ending fighting and foreplay.

For the first time in… he couldn't even remember how long – forever, perhaps – House found himself without a metaphor. There was nothing comparable, nothing that could even come close to describing the frenetic, heated press of Cuddy's lithe body against his own.

It didn't hurt,_ the girl said stubbornly, though her nose was red where the ball had hit her and she had that tone of voice that the schoolboy knew was lying._ You're bleeding,_ she added, before he thought of anything worth saying, and he shrugged, let the woodchips beneath them dig into his knees – because then his elbow didn't feel so much like it was on fire and he could pretend the drops of blood that were sliding down his arm were ants – little red ones – creepy-crawly and biting his skin._

The abrupt crack, startlingly loud, and the prickle of electric current crawling over his flesh seemed nothing more than the jolt of their bodies connecting –two positive and negative charges that had been spitting sparks and static for years.

Suddenly, House had a free hand, couldn't understand why it hadn't yet found a place on Cuddy's body, but just as suddenly, she seemed to slip from his grasp, so quickly that at first he could do little more than stare at his empty fingers and the water slipping between them – he had forgotten completely that they were standing in the rain.

"God! House…."

He felt a hand on his side, saw Cuddy bent before him, clutching at her ankle, the outline of the tire iron he hadn't realized he'd let slip from his grasp lying suspiciously near her foot.

_He still had her hand, he realized, as he stretched to peer around the slope of the slide and she was compelled to follow him. He should have let go, but she didn't either, and he was suddenly very conscious of the slick sweat on his palm, the layer of dirt, and a small pebble caught between them, sticking into his skin._

Thunder rumbled. House tried to look apologetic. "Looks like it's time to take this party into the backseat."

Rising with the help of his arm, Cuddy picked up the tire iron and glared at him. Words weren't necessary when the look in her eyes could speak so well and so loudly for her. She flung the tire iron into the trunk where it landed with a heavy thump.

"Hey," he protested, arm slung around her waist as he slammed the trunk shut. "_You _jumped _me._"

Though her face retained defiance, he thought he saw her flush – maybe nothing more than the constant red flicker of the hazard lights. "I did _not_ – "

Lightning split the sky again, so close that the crackle of thunder was nearly simultaneous and the scent of burning ozone lingered through the rain. The proximity of the zap seemed to startle Cuddy this time, her hand finding his forearm as she flinched.

"See?" He grinned, but she was already twisting out of his grip and making her way around him.

_The coast was clear, for the moment – the game of four-square had continued without them, and the air had yet to be pierced by the screaming, accusatory whistle of the recess monitor – but neither of them moved. The boy picked at a scab on his knee, the girl watching curiously (not disgusted as most other girls would have been – and he didn't know if it was safe or possible for his heart to swell, but he swore that it did). The slide above them roared and rattled as someone ran up it the wrong way._

House waited until Cuddy had slid just far enough into the backseat before squeezing in beside her. Her breath was still quick and shallow as she darted to the other side of the seat. It was a fruitless effort – there was nowhere for her to go where she would be out of arm's reach, and he lunged to grab her foot, her toes wet and freezing, and he rubbed them lightly between his fingers before moving slowly up the arch of her foot.

Cuddy tensed immediately, reaching out to grab at the door as if, even seated, the simple motion would be enough to throw her off balance. She was frowning – an expression that was more art than true emotion, fixed on her face as easily and impermanently as a painting upon a wall.

"We're not teenagers," she started, warningly. "House."

"Which is why this is so much more fun."

"If someone…." Cuddy had been trying for stern and trailed off when she missed the mark by a mile – she could have cursed him in a dozen different languages in that low, dulcet tone and anything she said would still have come across as a plea.

Action may speak louder than words, but at that moment, _lack _of action was much more telling. He wasn't holding her ankle tightly – it would have been all too easy for her to pull away, but she stayed stock-still, her foot quivering with the effort. It was then House knew that he had her completely. She would never explicitly give permission, but his fingers could travel wherever they liked without fear of resistance, thrilling a thousand untouched, undiscovered places over and within her where no other man would have dared or even known to traipse before.

_And there it was – the dreaded whistle, freezing every pair of feet on the playground with a collective gasp. The recess monitor was as feared as a fairytale ogre: loud, irrational, towering, and keeper of a power greater than any the schoolboy could conceive of – the ability to bring an end to recess seconds, even minutes, before the allotted time._

The air around them was usually buzzing with words, this new silence strange not for its lack of speech, but its comfort, and maybe that was what compelled him. "One small step for man…."

The familiarity of the words seemed to kick them back to normality: Cuddy was swatting at him now, if half-heartedly. "That didn't work the first time."

"That's what you think," he responded, refusing to relinquish his hold on her ankle. "The receptionist at the Make-A-Wish Foundation said she'd be more than happy to accommodate me if you wouldn't."

"You sure that was the legitimate foundation and not another one of your bordellos?"

Her voice didn't lack any of her usual conviction, faltered only for a second on that last syllable – a pause he might not even have noticed if he hadn't felt her muscles stiffen under his fingers as they started to move again.

"I thought it was a little strange when Minnie answered the phone with, _For three dollars a minute, any wish can come true…_" he teased, adding, "Relax," as he leaned forward to inspect her foot under the dull glow of the overhead light, a dark bruise already forming where the tire iron had landed. "This won't hurt a bit."

_The girl was holding the schoolboy's hand so tightly that he thought he could hear the bones in his fingers crunching, even over the booming footsteps that were swiftly approaching the slide. They cowered, sure as anything that they were caught, and the boy had heard enough storybooks to know that this was the time for one of two things: the unsheathing of his sword as he rose to fight the beast, or a long and heartfelt goodbye as he went bravely to his doom. _

"Right," Cuddy mumbled. "And how many times has _that_ line actually worked for you?"

"More than you'd think." House met her eyes with a smirk as she bent forward look at the swollen bruise, their foreheads nearly touching. She hissed as he pressed the sole of her foot against his palm, forcing her to bend and flex her ankle. He clucked his tongue, shaking his head. "Guess my fantasy of seeing Mechanic Cuddy in action is gonna have to wait."

"Like _you're_ going to change the tire," she answered crossly, leaning back against the car door and folding her arms.

"Why would I do that when guys named Vic and Mac pay to have their names embroidered on oil-stained jumpsuits," House scoffed, reaching in his pocket for his phone. "We'll call a tow truck."

"But…." Her frown only registered confusion for a moment – it didn't take long for suspicion to take over, and annoyance wasn't far behind.

He hit the power button, acting amazed as the phone's screen lit up. "The lightning must've recharged the battery. Awesome."

Cuddy glared at him, the heat from her eyes steaming. House grinned, losing all pretense of innocence as he started to dial, but she reached forward and snatched his phone from his hand.

"You don't trust me…" he accused.

"To call someone helpful? No."

_The boy's free hand felt stupidly at his side, but no golden, ruby-encrusted weapon had appeared within the last thirty seconds, and he would have made do with a long, sharp stick if he had to, but it didn't seem as if he was even lucky enough for that._

For nearly fifteen minutes, House watched Cuddy work her administrative magic as best she could. He hadn't been able to keep from laughing as she had spelled her name for the fourth time, even more slowly, and she had kicked at him, forgetting her own bruised foot and his aching thigh in her irritation, so that they were both gasping in pain and she had to mutter a quick goodbye through gritted teeth.

Something hit his bicep with the force of a missile – Cuddy violently returning his phone with a disgusted sigh. "A tow truck and a cab _should_ be here within the hour."

"Must be a little more difficult getting people to do what you want when they can't see your assets in person," House grumbled, rubbing his arm. "Gotta camera phone? Might've sped up the process."

"Contrary to what you tell everyone," Cuddy began, her tone as clipped as it always was when they were teasing, but she had broken eye contact, staring at the drops of rain skating down her dark window, "I didn't get where I am today by – "

"I know," House interrupted almost gently – more an apology than almost anything he had ever given her. "It's been awhile since I've been face-to-face with the girls."

Cuddy smiled, soft and sweet, and they had circled back to where they always were, as if everything outside had never happened – a lie that might have been easily believable if his lips weren't still tingling.

_For a moment, the schoolboy almost let himself think that every fairytale he had ever heard was a lie. But then the recess monitor's voice was bellowing, and it wasn't his name or the girl's. The slide above them clattered, a pair of feet appearing on the ladder – and a defiant but very sad little boy was led by the hand back inside the building. The children of the schoolyard released the breath they had been holding, mourning their fallen comrade for a silent second, but it wasn't long before shrieks and laughter reigned once again – he shouldn't have been climbing the wrong way up the slide, after all._

Cuddy had closed her eyes, fingers and thumb rubbing at her temples. House watched her, drumming on his good thigh to the beat of the now-quiet music of the radio and mixing in the rhythm of the rain. "Now what?"

"Can't you sit for five minutes without being entertained?" Cuddy asked with a sigh, not opening her eyes. She ran a hand through her hair, her usual soft waves drying into wild ringlets.

"That's debatable."

"You can't tell me you don't have your iPod or one of your other little toys hidden away somewhere."

He did, of course – his gameboy in the breast pocket of his jacket, iPod likewise safely stowed, but…. "What is it people do in the backseats of parked cars…?"

Her eyes snapped open and she peered at him through the lashes, amused, but trying not to show it. "Mature, respectable people or lewd seventeen-year-olds?"

_The schoolboy turned to the girl, grinning hugely at their narrow escape, but her face wasn't where he had expected it to be. The sudden, wet pressure against his lips was strange, barely lasted long enough to be felt at all, and only when the girl pulled back – slowly, lips puckered – did he realize what it was._

"We can play 'I Spy' if you want," House mused with a shrug, his line of sight slithering downward and arresting right where it usually did, "but I can tell you right now what all my clues are gonna lead to."

"Am I supposed to take that as a compliment?" Cuddy puffed up her chest indignantly, not helping her protest in the slightest.

"Matter of fact. Take it however you want."

"Just sit and be quiet, House." She was resting her head on her hand, shivering as she drew her other arm tightly across her waist.

"You were much more persuasive," he began, rising to lean over the front seats and crank up the heat, "half-an-hour ago."

_His mouth found his sleeve automatically, wiping from the inside of his elbow all the way down his hand – rubbing it in, his grandmother would have said, and the girl must have heard this version, too, because the gesture didn't seem to faze her. He knew then that he was smiling, and so was she, even as she scrambled up, tearing her hand from his and started racing across the playground. He wasn't far behind._

Cuddy regarded him curiously as he fell back into the seat beside her. She didn't comment on their sudden closeness, pressed together now from knee to shoulder, only murmuring a quiet, "Thank you."

"Couldn't tell if I was turning you on or it was just cold in here."

"House…" she groaned, in that tone of hers that was meant to scold, and she was shifting against him, but for once it wasn't in an effort to get away.

Whatever else she had been about to say melted. Her head rested against his shoulder; his hand found her knee. And neither jumped this time as thunder rumbled once again.

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**Don't worry – this won't drag on forever, and we're closing in on the end. :) Thanks for reading, and please review if you get a chance! **


	9. Out of the Rain

**Thanks so much Shikabane-Mai, Critical Blues, J Lesley, barqualounger, HouseM.D.FanForever, gidget89, mandy9578, mo, abc2, cybercat08, Kirsty, Mix-Me-A-Martini, Trinity87, AngelEyes2332, Huddytheultimate, Kish32, Schuyler Lola, SmilinStar, glicine, HolidayArmadillo, insanehouseaddict, Snivellusly Ozalan, huddyaddicted, Lilylynn, Merlynnodd, 7ala11, standoffish, Laurie, and HouseAddiction. You guys are the best!**

**Technically, this chapter ends where the last one was supposed to. Go figure.**

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**Chapter 9: Out of the Rain**

When it had been a few minutes since he had felt Cuddy shift against him, House risked a glance downward. Her eyes were closed, her breathing had deepened. He would have bet almost any amount of money that she had fallen asleep. He also would have lost.

"You really can stay quiet for more than five minutes." Cuddy's voice was soft as she twisted her head up to look at him.

"You can't stay mad for half that long," he teased easily, grinning in triumph. "I win."

It was almost inexplicable, this need to turn everything into a battle, answer each question with three more before deigning to give a single response. His defenses were flimsy and pointless – the wall of books propped up by a grade-schooler to keep others from copying off a standardized test that would never count for anything anyway – and Cuddy had found her way around them long ago.

"Fine," she sighed, glancing down at her hands on her lap, his hand beside them on her thigh. "Take next week off clinic duty. Then we're even."

House frowned – she still refused to look up at him. "It's no fun if you don't fight back."

"It's what you want, isn't it?" she asked quietly, her tone suddenly changing – somewhat amused, mostly accusatory: their usual terms with hardly a twist. "Exactly how long was I supposed to stay angry with you?"

"You're forgetting the other half of the deal," he coolly pointed out, raising his eyebrows expectantly.

"I'm already deducting your clinic hours, House."

"You're evading."

"You're annoying."

_The schoolboy hadn't been able to catch her – he had been _this _close, barely inches away, when the whistle had sounded. At that noise, the faces on the playground became somber enough for a funeral – there would be no more recess until tomorrow. The boy and girl fell into their separate lines and began the long march back into the stuffy classroom._

He smirked even as he bent to kiss her, gently, pulling away and screwing up his mouth. "God, that _is_ annoying?" He sat back, gingerly lifting his leg to place it between the front seats. "What exactly do you think is gonna happen if you let someone else take control once in awhile?"

"With you? Who knows."

"What if it were Wilson?... Foreman?... That guy on the Board with three nipples?"

He watched her for a reaction, but she barely moved. "This wouldn't be happening."

"Man boobs not really your thing, huh? Can't say I blame you."

"Shut up, House," she whispered tiredly, looking up at him suddenly, seriously. "With anyone else."

And that was enough of an admittance for him. Time passed, slowly, sweetly – that liquid way minutes flow one into the other without seeming to at all.

When a sharp rap sounded on the window, it might have been twenty minutes later – or perhaps only two. House reached over Cuddy, fumbling for the button on the car door that would open the window. Her fingers brushed his as she gently pushed him out of the way, her fingers finding the button automatically and the opening of the window letting in the sound of the rain.

_Their math dittos were particularly cumbersome today, the numbers swimming in front of the schoolboy's eyes and refusing to add up as they should. It was stupid of someone to think that any of this could make sense when the girl sat in front of him, twirling her hair around and around and around her finger – the motion so mesmerizing that he barely heard the earsplitting, high-pitched ringing that had everyone else jumping up in their seats._

A man stood outside, the hood of a dirty, once-yellow rain slicker pulled over his head, but not tightly enough to hide the "Tony's Towing" logo on his hat. Only when House saw the man's smirk did he realize that the combination of the heat and rain had fogged all the car's windows.

"Ya want me to wait a bit, s'fine by me," the man drawled, gesticulating to the truck parked in front of them. "I get paid by the hour."

"So does she," House answered, nodding at Cuddy as he dodged her sharp elbow.

"Was that necessary?" Cuddy asked, closing the window as the man trudged towards the front of the car.

House placed his leg back onto the floor, reaching into the front seat for his jacket and cane, taking the keys from the ignition. "You expect me to resist bait like that?"

Cuddy snapped off the overhead light in answer, plunging them both into sudden darkness. She had opened the door before he had sat back in his seat, but he managed to drape his coat over her shoulders before she exited into the downpour, watching as she stumbled out onto her bare feet.

_The fire alarm! Maybe the school _was_ burning down, somewhere, but, at the moment, the prospect of being back out in the fresh air – and maybe, just maybe, seeing a real fire truck, up close – was much too exhilarating for that to seem much of a threat. There was no time to line up alphabetically, and it was all too easy for the boy to finagle his way into the boys' line so that he was right beside the girl._

"Stand on one foot," House ordered as he stepped out beside her.

She had one hand on her hip, the other at the base of her neck, holding his coat around her. "My foot is fine."

"Then it shouldn't be a problem."

Obviously having decided this was one battle not worth fighting, Cuddy humored him, lifting one foot off the ground and shooting him that _I told you so_ glare. "Happy?"

"As a clam." He jabbed his cane in the direction of her other foot. "Now how about the one that was attacked by a lug wrench?"

Cuddy gazed intently at the tow truck, pretending not to have heard. She still stood on one foot, hiding the other behind her leg.

"That's what I thought," he teased, but his fingers were on her elbow, the touch light but still felt through the material of his jacket, and it was this that impelled her to look up at him. He offered her a quick, lopsided smile before letting go, leaving her side long enough to head back to her trunk, retrieving her shoes and handing them over.

At first, all Cuddy could do was stare wordlessly at them, as if expecting the gesture to be some kind of trick and waiting for her own footwear to burst wildly into flame.

"No shirt, no shoes, no service," House recited without thought, winking comically. "_If_ you know what I mean." And this, somehow, took the edge off the moment, and Cuddy took the shoes from him with almost a smile.

_They were supposed to be silent as they shuffled outside, but over the sound of the fire alarm, how would the teacher hear what was whispered behind her? Everyone was tittering, and in the chaos and excitement, no one took any notice of a hand that reached from the boys' line over to the girls'._

"You folks need a lift?" The driver shouted over the din. "It'll be a tight squeeze, but I don't mind."

"I'm sure he wouldn't," Cuddy murmured sarcastically.

"It's better than drowning out here. Fifty bucks says the cab never shows."

When she didn't answer, House accepted the offer on behalf of the both of them. He began to have second thoughts when the driver was adamant that Cuddy would have to sit in the middle – citing some very lame and suspiciously spur-of-the-moment excuse about height and the rearview mirror – but he wasn't about to back down now, and set to watching Cuddy try not to hobble as she clambered into the truck.

House climbed in beside her and immediately began fiddling with the radio dial – silence would be better than whatever static-filled crap the truck's speakers were currently spewing. "You should get that x-rayed."

"It's not broken."

"Which you've seen with your x-ray vision?" The inside of the truck smelled strongly of cigarettes, oil and gasoline, but still her perfume found its way through and wrapped itself around him, the mixture oddly enticing. "What color's my underwear?"

_It hurt his elbow to stretch it, the big band-aid that the nurse had slapped on it (not very gently) pinching and stretching against his skin. He could only brush his fingertips against her arm. And then make it look like a horrible stumble-related accident – because they were out in the sunshine now, and surely someone would notice._

"I'm fine, House." She wrinkled her nose, turning her face into his shoulder, and he felt the warmth and sudden cooling of her breath against the wet material of his shirt as she sighed.

"Trick question, anyway." He had to keep his mouth occupied, he realized – as suddenly as a person on a darkened staircase discovers that they had expected one too many steps – to stop himself from kissing her: and maybe that had been the reason for their incessant banter all along. "I'm going commando."

"Why do you think I didn't answer?"

She tipped her chin up to face him, and this was dangerous territory, with her mouth so close to his – landmines and booby traps and unseen snipers waiting in the rustling leaves of the trees – but the door opened, the driver heaving himself into the truck with a grunt. He frowned first at the radio, turning the dial back to where it had been – just to the right of an actual station and screaming static.

"Where to?"

Cuddy started to give her address, but House intercepted, leaning across her and offering up his own instead. "We go to your place, we're stranded," he stated in response to her scowl. "Unless you've got a raft hidden somewhere in that getup."

"So," the driver began, pausing to clear his throat loudly and disgustingly, opening his window to spit out into the rain. He glanced over at Cuddy, but not in time to catch her subtly inching away from him. "Whaddya tell people? When they ask what you do?"

_Word must've spread about the incident on the four-square court, because the freckled boy behind him had noticed the schoolboy reach out to the girl, but had quickly looked away. There would be no taunts and whispers now when other kids couldn't easily run away from him – and when the schoolboy looked back at the freckled boy again, he thought he saw something there like jealousy._

"I'm a doctor."

The driver grinned bawdily. "Best kinda healing there is."

House risked a quick look at Cuddy just as her wide-eyed horror had festered into white-hot fury and aimed in his direction. Raising his hands in mock-surrender, he shrugged. "I've gotta agree with him."

"I _am_ a doctor," Cuddy tried again, her politeness strained – the tone one House had thus far only heard her use to address him when he was misbehaving in front of potential donors.

"She examines patients and everything," House added. So much of his effort was spent trying not to laugh that he didn't feel her fingernails dig into his good thigh until the sensation had far surpassed mild discomfort and settled somewhere around stabbing pain.

The driver either thought they were kidding or was simply ignoring them both. "What d'they call you?"

"Personally, I call her 'Cuddles,'" House answered without missing a beat – if he was going to get in trouble for this anyway, he might as well have his fun while he still could. The phrase, _If you can't beat 'em, join 'em_, existed for a reason, after all.

"House," Cuddy hissed threateningly.

He could feel her eyes on him, but was careful to avoid them with his own in case, just this once, actuality evaded all logic and she actually did pierce him with her stare. Instead, he tilted his head, pressing his lips against her ear and stretching out her name, "Cuddy…. When're you _ever_ gonna see this guy again?"

_The girl was twirling her hair again, and with the sunlight glinting on it, he was nearly a goner – would have done anything she said no matter how stupid it sounded. Something was jabbing him – sharp and annoying. His friend was behind him, almost frantic, because the teacher was calling out names now, and he had nearly missed his._

The reasoning behind this did not seem to comfort Cuddy, as evidenced by the swift kick she aimed at his Achilles tendon – apparently, she had put back on her shoes. Eventually, however, her responses to the driver's increasingly strange string of questions began to grow less bitter, and there was almost a hint of amusement in her voice.

Despite her already-divided attention, Cuddy still managed to grab House's hand as it wandered into the scant space between them and up her thigh. "House…."

The driver had been mid-sentence, but quieted, watching them. House allowed Cuddy a few moments to think that she had actually scared him into behaving before he started his fingers moving again – it was much too much fun watching Cuddy squirm when there was nowhere for her to go.

"_House_." She squeezed his hand so hard that he barely squelched a yelp.

The driver cleared his throat, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. "That's a 7-11." They were at a stoplight, and he leaned over Cuddy to stare at House. "Your girl all right? There aren't really any houses on this strip."

House nodded sideways at Cuddy, made sure she was watching before he pantomimed drinking. "Lightweight," he mumbled out of the corner of his mouth. "You know how it is with women."

The driver grinned widely in agreement. "My Mary's the same way. Get more'n two beers into her and…."

_Sirens! And Lights! And there were the trucks and the fireman, with their big coats and their hats, and they were pulling out tools and hoses, which they'd never bothered with before, and out jumped a spotted dog! Without anything else that had happened within the past four hours, this alone would've automatically designated this day as the Best Day Ever. _

Cuddy's expression and body language oozed contempt, and the driver's last few comments before he finally, mercifully, dropped them off in front of House's apartment hadn't helped matters much. The two of them stood silently on the sidewalk, oblivious now to the dampness of the weather, though reminded by the heavy drops that pounded on exposed skin.

House didn't doubt that had Cuddy, at that moment, possessed anything sharper than a stiletto, he would have been very much in pain – a forecast that might still be a possibility if he wasn't careful. He sidled up behind her, so close that she had to feel him there, and rested his chin on her shoulder. "Truce?"

She wheeled to face him, but he had expected both the motion and her burning glare, stepping quickly back and out of her direct line of fire. "_You're_ the one who – "

"You started it the second you put on that dress," he interrupted. "You can't look… like _that_ and expect there to not be consequences."

Cuddy lowered her gaze. "Like what?"

He reached a hand out, lowering it to her waist. She didn't question him, even as he dipped his hand into the pocket of the jacket she still had wrapped around her, watching as he extracted his keys as carefully as an eight-year-old playing Operation.

"Nice," he answered at last, gently, watching as her smile flowered before jangling the keys in front of her nose and turning with a grin. "C'mon," he called over his shoulder, "I think the twins have been watered enough for one day."

_But then he felt something squeeze his hand, and when he looked at the girl, her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were shining, and he wished he knew a word that meant better than best, because this was just what that was._

Once inside the building, they both took a moment to revel in finally being out of the rain. House leaned against the wall beside his apartment door, rubbing his thigh. "No way in hell I'm going out there again."

Cuddy shrugged, reaching into her purse. "I can call a cab."

House caught her arm and she stilled, peering at him curiously, her eyes flicking quickly to his apartment door – both of them very aware of the fact that though she had stood in his doorway on many occasions, she had never been inside.

"It'll be a lot easier if you just stay," he mumbled _almost_ nonchalantly, trying to make it look as if he wasn't asking, demanding, begging – and then he met her eyes. "Cuddy?"

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**As always, thanks so much for reading, and please review if you have a sec -- I love hearing from you guys!**


	10. Spinning a Web

**Thanks to everyone still reading, especially: HouseAddiction, Shikabane-Mai, Eleanor J., Jessie, ladyhound, mandy9578, Merlynnod, CaptainTish, Ieyre, DaniBD, glicine, HolidayArmadillo, gidget89, Mix-Me-A-Martini, AngelEyes2332, Schuyler Lola, CalicoStar, huddytheultimate, 7ala11, huddyaddicted, Critical Blues, Trinity87, SmilinStar, insanehouseaddict, Snivellusly Ozalan, HouseM.D.FanForever, gabiroba, Lilylynn, darkjewelledassassin, wrytingtyme, and Kish32, who all rock for writing such lovely reviews.**

**In the spirit of the old Rocky and Bullwinkle cartoons, this chapter could alternately be titled, "... or: Can House Be Serious for More Than Five Seconds?"**

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**Chapter 10: Spinning a Web**

Cuddy dropped his gaze so quickly that if the flicker of uncertainty he had caught there hadn't immediately rippled across her forehead, House might have doubted he had seen it at all. She could answer back so swiftly in an argument, slice anyone who tried to cross her with a glare of splintered blue glass that it was all too easy to forget the fragility that existed underneath her confident authority – a diaphanous tangle of looping thoughts and emotions that House had learned to ignore long before he'd had a chance to understand them.

His fingers were still encircling her wrist, gently, the bones there thin and delicate, his thumb tracing lazy circles, the touch seeming to create a vortex that tapped her anxiety as smoothly as water circling down a drain. House waited until he heard her sigh, her cell phone thudding into her purse as her grip on it loosened.

He could hear the phone ringing inside his apartment but ignored it. "Cuddy?"

"Hmm?"

"Come inside."

"No more clever comments about hookers?" she asked, her voice low.

He let go of her wrist, fumbling to unlock the door. "Not unless you want 'em."

_It was much too quiet when the fire alarm was silenced, even the shushing of teachers and the stamping feet of grumbling students not enough to make up for the loss. The spotted dog stretched and yawned as they passed, his long, pink tongue arching, and though a few brave souls tried to sneak from their lines to pet him, they were quickly admonished – the dog was working, and working dogs are not to be petted, and if one more child stepped out of his or her line…._

Taking her hand, House tugged her inside. If Cuddy really hadn't wanted to follow, she knew better than anyone how to fight him, but she was light as a feather, came towards him with a force that was not all his own doing. Once she had crossed the threshold, he relinquished her hand, shutting the door and locking it.

Without waiting for an invitation, Cuddy hobbled further into the room, peering curiously at her surroundings. He thought he saw the beginnings of a smile – or something like it; she seemed to approve, and he wouldn't have thought that at all mattered to him until felt the strange tingling of relief.

Loudly exaggerating his limp, House made his way towards her. "If I didn't know any better, Cuddy, I'd say you were mocking me."

"Yes," she replied wryly, quickly glancing over her shoulder at him. "I'm walking like this to annoy you." Even with her back to him, he saw her shiver, the fabric of his jacket stretching at her shoulders as she pulled it more tightly around her.

"Let's get you out of those wet clothes and – "

"Finish that statement, House, and so help me…."

_The girl was the only one not frowning as they slogged back inside, and afterwards, the schoolboy wondered if she had known all along what was going to happen next. The teacher had only just begun to restore order in the classroom when the fire alarm sounded once again._

He shuffled silently in her direction. Cuddy stiffened when his hands found her shoulders, and he kneaded her taut muscles before lifting his wet jacket away. "You really do need to lighten up."

He turned her to face him and she followed his lead, arms crossed and pouting like a petulant child. Her expression changed as she watched him watching her, and he suspected it had something to do with the way his eyes raked up and down her body. "I'll grab something for you to change into."

Cuddy's cheeks colored and she gestured wildly at her soaked and no doubt ruined dress. "I can just…."

"You're not sitting your wet ass on _my_ couch," he tried to threaten. "The size of it is enough strain for the cushions already."

"It'll dry eventually," she muttered, pushing at the soggy material that had ridden a few inches up her thigh, clinging stubbornly to smooth, damp skin. Her eyes swept to the door. "Or – "

_The firemen hadn't had time to pack up and leave, some of them standing outside the door to the school to make sure they got out safely. The girl waved at the firemen as they passed, and one of them broke the code of silent and watchful seriousness, a smile unfolding under his bristly mustache. Blushing and giggling, the girl quickly looked away, and though the schoolboy tried to shoot daggers at the smiling, mustachioed firemen with his eyes, they were unable to penetrate his thick firefighter's coat._

"They're just clothes," he cut in quickly. "Clean, even."

"I didn't think you knew what clean was."

"Hey now. There's no need for attacks on personal hygiene." He started towards the bedroom, and she followed. They were talking now only to cover the silence.

She stayed carefully two steps behind him. "You mean there _wouldn't be_ if…."

He stopped abruptly before the dresser, and Cuddy jumped back before she ran into him. It was stilted and awkward, this dance they were doing – two middle-schoolers at their first semi-formal, embarrassed to make eye contact and unable to keep up even with the slow rhythm of the song when all their attention was focused on not stepping on the other's toes and staying almost an arm's length apart: innocent for now, perhaps, but all so pointless and stupid when it would only be a matter of time before they were grinding and gyrating, swapping STDs and saliva with the rest of adolescent America.

The unmistakable scent of stale cleanliness wafted into his nostrils – cotton infused with the rich aroma of wood. House held out a white undershirt, a blue-plaid pair of flannel pants that had been a bit snug for ages but he had still kept crammed into the back of a drawer. When Cuddy didn't immediately take them, he pushed them into her arms.

"You used to borrow my clothes all the time. And those were nowhere near clean."

_There was little he could do to compete with a fireman, the schoolboy thought sulkily, the sunlight doing little to cheer him. At least until he grew up and became a fireman himself, but that wouldn't be for years and years, and by that time, the girl would probably have forgotten all about him._

"That," Cuddy started, taking the items from him, "was a long time ago."

"What's really changed? You've put on a few soft pounds and I've lost some muscle. Maybe we've both got M.D.'s now, but we played doctor enough back then to…." He paused, frowning as a familiar guilt crept into her features. "Relax," he added after a moment, and maybe all it would take to release her completely was a few simple words – _It's not your fault_.

It's exactly what he meant even if the words and tone were distorted. "I'm sure no one at your 25-year reunion will notice. It's all about T 'n' A in this day and age, and you've got both of those _well_-covered." He glanced downward here, smirking, a master of theatrics, and if this particular gesture happened to award him with an improved view of her breasts, then all the better. "Or not, as the case may be…."

Cuddy rolled her eyes. He wiggled his eyebrows at her, still catching the edge of her grin as she slipped past him towards the bathroom. Never one to let a good view go to waste, House watched her go, ducking back into his room as the door shut.

_The fire alarm quieted more quickly this time, but started back up not a second later. It was boring and squirmy, standing so close to the playground and not being able to play on it, and the sunshine was starting to make him itch. The girl was all but jumping through hoops to get his attention, smiling and poking and making faces as he had before, but the boy's thoughts were still on the smiling fireman, and he was trying to ignore her._

He wasn't surprised that he finished changing before her – she was probably taking the time to attempt to fix and fold best she could, while his suit lay on the bedroom floor in a crumpled heap. Casting a glance at the closed bathroom door, House walked back into the living room just as the phone began to ring again, invasive and blaring.

"_What_?" he barked into the receiver.

"Hello to you, too," Wilson's voice answered, annoyed and somewhat hurt.

"I knew it was you. What do you want?"

"That's a great tone to take with the one person concerned with your wellbeing – aside from your mother. I tried calling your cell – "

"Battery died." He used his cane to lift his suit jacket off the back of the couch and drape it over a more out-of-the-way chair.

" – and here. I was about to come over. Did everything…?"

Wilson had paused, the inflection of whatever he'd last said indicating it was something to which House should respond. But although House had heard most of the words, had an answer on the tip of his tongue, he was struck momentarily dumb the instant Cuddy appeared in the doorway.

She had pulled her hair back into a sloppy ponytail, a few loose curls playing around her neck. His shirt hung loosely on her thin frame, the pant legs wrinkling around her ankles and hiding the tops of her bare feet. Arms folded, she leaned against the doorframe to take the weight off her foot, watching him. House swallowed.

Hey_, the schoolboy's friend hissed, kicking at his shin to make sure he had his full attention, _She wants you_. The friend jabbed a thumb in the girl's direction, looked none too happy to be the one to have to deliver this message, but when the girl thanked him, so sweetly, he became so flustered that he had to turn back around. _

"House?... _House_?"

Where the hell was this voice coming from and why was it shouting in his ear?

Tearing his eyes from Cuddy so he could force something like rational thought through his brain, House felt the solid weight of the phone in his hand, remembered Wilson, and just as quickly, tried to forget him.

"Gotta go," he grumbled into the phone. "Bad connection."

"This is your landli– "

But the receiver hit the cradle with a satisfying clunk. And that was the end of that.

"How's Wilson?" Cuddy asked.

"Annoying." House rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, stabbing his cane in the vague direction of her foot. "You should put that on the rocks."

"It's not going to do much good now."

"Some doctor you are, refusing treatment. What kind of example is _that_ to set for your med students?"

"A better one than _you_ set for your team."

"Ah, but mine are almost all grown up." He headed towards the kitchen, hooking his cane on the doorframe and leaving her standing behind him as he shouted, the words mixing with the clinking of ice cubes and glass. "Took off their training wheels, got their own prescription pads and everything. Yours are still eating stuff they pull out of their noses and calling you Mommy."

_The girl pressed something into the schoolboy's palm before he had a chance to face her. _Diamonds_, she said, and he held the pebble up in the sunlight, squinting at the sparkles that danced on its rough surface. The spotted dog barked, but it sounded far away._

House returned with a plastic bag filled with ice and two stacked glasses of vodka. Cuddy was at the piano, fingering the keys.

"Here's that dry martini." Anticipating her reaction, he grinned as she rolled her eyes and took the glass. He took a swallow from his own and placed it on the piano, the alcohol burning warmly as it slithered down his throat. "You play?"

"No." She sipped her vodka, spluttering as he suddenly angled his body against hers, forcing her backwards. She stumbled back against the couch, flopping onto the cushions when he pushed on her shoulders and shooting him a glare as her drink spilled onto her fingers. He propped her leg up on the coffee table, sliding the flannel up her toned calf, letting his fingertips trail down the smooth skin to press lightly against the swollen edges of her bruise as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

She sucked in a breath, hitting a higher note as he replaced his fingers with the bag of ice as he placed the ice on her bruise, but her expression softened and she nodded at the piano. "Will _you_?"

_The girl shook her head when he tried to return the treasure, hiding her hands behind her back. He pocketed it with a grin, all forgiven, but now he needed something to give to her in return. Good fortune had placed them next to a patch of dandelions, mostly bright yellow and flowery, but one had already transformed into a white ball of fluff. The boy bent and plucked the single no-longer-a-flower delicately, careful not to disturb its fuzzy surface, and held it out to her._

House headed towards the piano – his drink was still there, which was as good an excuse as any, and he snagged a bottle of Vicodin he found along the way, tipping a pill into his mouth and chasing it with a swig of vodka. "What do you think I am, a jukebox?"

"God, if I could control what came out of your mouth with a few buttons and a roll of quarters…."

He never played for anyone, especially when asked, but if there were one person for whom he would make an exception….

It wasn't a song at all, just a few random notes and chords that came to him as he stood by the piano, but it was enough to silence her, more full of truth than anything he had said to her in years. Giving in to her request and the music, House seated himself on the piano bench, played now with both hands. Cuddy downed the rest of her vodka in one gulp, the ice cubes clattering as she kicked the bag off her foot and rose.

_The girl took the dandelion with as if were the most precious thing she would ever hold, her hand shaking and the fluff trembling when a tinny voice called for attention over a loudspeaker and announced that a spider in the fire alarm kept triggering the mechanism._

"Hasn't been twenty minutes yet," he scolded, watching her circle the piano until she left his field of vision.

He could feel her standing behind him as easily as he felt the music vibrating through the air, sensed the heat of her eyes following the waltz of fingers across the keys. He slid down the bench to allow her room to sit at the same moment that he knew she wasn't going to, the motion clumsy and jerking as he tried too late to stop it.

The warmth of a hand was on his shoulder and he turned, one hand still lazily playing across the keys, and she was bending already as he pressed a palm to her waist.

Just like that, they moved from a middle school dance to the high school prom – after the punch has been spiked and the chaperones are too tired to pretend they'd had any more restraint or morals at seventeen. He hadn't kissed or been kissed like this since….

_Normally such an amusing announcement would be cause for laughter and shouts of amazement– a sound that was echoed all around them – but the boy and the girl were busy: she scrunched her eyes tightly, held the dandelion up to her lips and blew, and they both watched the individual seeds scatter, escaping with their own parachutes on the gentle breeze._

"_Why_ didn't we do this earlier?" House mumbled distractedly, trying to get the leverage to stand without putting any distance between them.

Two dissonant chords clamored behind him as Cuddy stumbled forward, her hands slipping from his sides and catching on the piano. "You could never keep your mouth shut long enough."

"My mouth isn't shut now," he pointed out, finally standing and pulling her close, pressing open-mouthed kisses along her jaw.

"Don't you ever…."

He chuckled as her sentence spun into incoherence. "Didn't quite get that."

"How about this?" Cuddy asked, smiling wickedly as she curled her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck and pressed her lips to his.

_That_ he got, but, opportunist that he was, still asked her to repeat it, for once finding a request that she was more than happy to indulge – many times over.

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**Never fear -- I _am_ winding this down, as much as it tries to fight me on that. I promise there'll only be two more chapters (House does need to cash in on his bets, after all, and our schoolkids need to be getting home). **

**Thanks again for reading and, if you get a chance, please let me know what you thought!**


	11. Insects and Paperwork

**Special thanks to HouseAddiction, Merylnnod, Shikabane-Mai, standoffish, darkjewelledassassin, HuddyTheUltimate, AngelEyes2332, Snivellusly Ozalan, HouseM.D.FanForever, Maggie, CaptainTish, PaulaAbdulChica2007, mandy9578, glicine, huddyaddicted, gidget89, Schulyer Lola, insanehouseaddict, Eleanor J., Flora Winter, Kish32, Trinity87, Ieyre, starkidtw, SmilinStar, Critical Blues, gabiroba, HolidayArmadillo, Pogo KW, J Lesley, Lilylynn, and Rachel for leaving such fantastic reviews.**

**Sorry that this rambles on a little longer than I might've liked, though I did edit it down quite a bit -- I blame House and his incessant talking.**

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**Chapter 11: Insects and Paperwork**

House's eyes snapped open to the pitch black of early morning. Cuddy's scent reached him before any memory of the last few hours, and it was purely reflexive that his arm swept over the other side of the bed. The sheets were empty and cold, and that shouldn't have been right, he thought with a frown, sitting up and struggling to make sense of the swimming numbers on the clock.

It was the time of night when everything is eerily silent, except for those incessant crickets and the odd car slinking almost quietly down the street… and his apartment's pipes, apparently, because the sound of running water suddenly reached his ears.

Rising, he pulled on the first pair of pants he found on the floor and fumbled for his cane, following the noise to the kitchen. There, he found Cuddy, her back to him as she stood at the sink in his white undershirt, one ankle resting on the back of her other calf in an effort to keep all weight off her foot. Her shoulder blades were moving furiously, and she seemed to be attacking the grime that he'd let pile up on his dishes all week as if it had done her some sort of personal wrong.

"Was it really _that_ bad?" House asked from the doorway, jokingly frowning at the clutter in his apartment.

_The schoolboy watched the girl's lips moving as she mumbled her dandelion-wish into the wind. He wondered what she wished for: a spotted dog she could pet and play with, the smiling fireman, Oreo cookies and milk as an after-school snack. The thought that it might have anything to do with him hadn't even occurred to him, would have sent him soaring through the air after the dandelion fluff._

Cuddy jumped at the sudden sound but seemed to find comfort when she recognized it as his voice. She glanced back at him over her shoulder, the faucet still running. "When I can't sleep, I clean."

House's mind wandered vaguely back to the few times he had seen inside her house – how spotless it had been and how little time she actually spent there – he wondered just for a moment how many nights she spent in just this way. "You're thinking too much."

When he approached her, she must have sensed it, though she had turned away, her hands stilling in the sinkful of suds. "I'm not supposed to think about any of this?"

"Not at three in the morning," he grumbled, tapping her leg lightly with his cane. "You realize we only went to bed two hours ago?"

This, at least, made her almost smile, a slight twitch of the lips that might've taken off more fully but for the lateness of the hour. "I think it was awhile before that."

_One of the firemen was talking again, but he should've known better than to think a gaggle of elementary school students would listen when the other firefighters were packing away their gear (and the spotted dog, too), and were pulling out of the parking lot. Only one truck remained as the other classes straggled back into the school: the brave team that had been given the task of trying to remove the spider without setting off the alarm again._

"_With _the intent of sleeping," House amended, grinning, gently repositioning her foot with the tip of his cane and watching as she winced. "Definitely fractured your first metatarsal."

"And you're complaining that _I'm_ thinking too much."

"Must hurt like a bitch." His vision was still hazy laced with Vicodin and this close to sleep, but still it wasn't difficult to make out the way her foot had swollen or how the bruise had darkened to an angry maroon. "We'll get it x-rayed tomorrow. It'll be fun."

"We're not and it's fine," Cuddy answered back sharply, scrubbing viciously at a particularly dirty plate.

"You're cranky when you're overtired."

"You're an ass all the time."

"Come back to bed," he said simply, taking from her the dish and the sponge, lifting her hands so both of theirs ran under the almost-too-hot water before he turned it off. She didn't object, not even when he wiped his wet hands on her shirt, the glare she shot him not counting at all when, for lack of any alternative, she followed his lead, her hands swiping where his had just been.

_The teacher's excitement was faked when she announced that they were going to stay outside, taking a hint from their eight-legged friend and see what other insects they could find – won't that be fun? A spider is not a bug. The boy knew this and was on the verge of pointing it out when the girl's voice rang out: _Are they gonna hurt him? The spider?

House hitched an arm around Cuddy's waist, knowing they would both need the help of each other and his cane for the slow shuffle back to the bedroom. Tossing his cane aside once they reached it, he flopped down on the bed, watching as she stood in front of him, rubbing a hand over her eyes.

"We have ways of making you sleep…."

"_That_ sounds promising."

"Pick your poison." Tugging at her wrist, he wrenched it just enough so that she spun and sat facing him. "I can spike some warm milk with a few crushed Vicodin…."

"People don't generally use that phrase when they're talking about _actual _poison."

"Hey. Don't knock it 'til you've tried it," he scolded. "_Second_ best sleep you'll ever get."

He waited expectantly, staring at her with raised eyebrows. At first, Cuddy tried to ignore him, but sensing he wasn't going to fold, eventually took the bait with a sigh. "The first?"

"Little more of a time commitment, but highly effective. Involves _multiple_ adrenaline rushes which will leave you disorientated, exhausted, and under the assumption that I am God." He was already fingering the hem of her t-shirt, dragging it upwards as he leaned in to kiss her.

_Most of the class didn't seem to care. The boys mostly murmured that squashing bugs was cool. The girls whined that spiders were scary and gross, and why did they have to go _looking_ for them? The schoolboy's friend was under the impression that spiders could talk and spell words in their webs, and made the unfortunate decision of sharing the thought aloud._

"I thought I had a choice," Cuddy mumbled, though she made no motion to pull away.

Slightly amused, he pulled back to look at her, let his fingertips skin over the smooth muscles at her waist, felt them ripple. "You _really_ want the warm milk?"

"No."

He wasn't sure if she truly spoke or he'd only imagined it, though, either way, he knew he felt the answer pulse through the air and his skin as she rested her head on his shoulder, her breath hot and quick against his neck.

"Good. Milk expired last week. Great emetic, not so hot as a soporific."

"Then why'd you ask?"

"Given the alternatives, I didn't think we'd be having this conversation," he mused, adding, "Stop talking."

He didn't hear another coherent sentence out of her until very late the next morning.

* * *

Cuddy appeared in the living room, still sleepy and yawning, hours after the ache in House's leg had forced him to give u p the warm comfort under the tangled sheets beside her. "God, I haven't slept like that since…." 

"The day after my med school graduation," he answered automatically, peering up at her over his mug of coffee.

"That's a little egotistical of you."

"Then tell me it isn't the truth."

_While the rest of the class quickly shot this babyish spider theory down, with much sniggering, the schoolboy pretended, for the moment, not to know who his friend was. There was simply no way you could defend someone against something like that, not when the whole class had heard. Distracted though she was, the schoolgirl still found it in her to place a reassuring hand on his friend's shoulder, and the schoolboy wasn't surprised when this seemed to help more than he could have._

When Cuddy blushed, House saw her as she had been that morning, almost twenty years ago: young and almost carefree, smiling sleepily as her eyelashes fluttered, her bare skin pressing against his when she stretched on top of him, her curls – longer then – tickling his chest.

"I rest my case." Grinning, House held out an open package, the thin foil crinkling as he folded it back to reveal the frosted, flat pastry still tucked inside. "Pop-Tart?"

Cuddy slipped onto the couch beside him and wrinkled her nose at his offering, pushing it aside and stealing his coffee cup instead. It shouldn't have thrilled him, her lips closing around the mug's rim where his own had been just seconds before; he watched as she sipped and swallowed, curving both her hands around the warm cup. "How can you eat that for breakfast?"

"They're delicious, and here in the Eastern time zone, this meal is generally considered lunch."

She groaned. "I was supposed to call in for the lab results on – "

"All negative. I had them do a colonoscopy, and they're treating your poor little rich boy for IBD." Reaching into his pocket he took out her cell phone and dropped it on her lap. "You had it on vibrate," he explained with a smirk. "Good choice."

_The girl was chewing her lip, and the boy didn't know what to do to comfort her when he didn't at all understand why the life or death of a spider should be cause for such distress. He looked around wildly, searching in vain for another fluffy white dandelion, but there were none to be found. He turned to the girl, her eyes blue like the sky, and he had never been this close or this still to notice before. Though it went against a thousand unspoken rules, if she wanted, she could change her wish and he wouldn't mind._

"You diagnosed _my _patient _over the phone_."

"Course not." He was trying to ignore her and focus on the muted television for the moment, or at least pretend to, which was proving more difficult. "_You _did. And when you go to get that x-ray today, you might want to pretend you have a cold. The nurse was a little suspicious at first, so I had to fake a sneezing attack."

"My foot is fine."

"If by _fine_, you mean _fractured_, then I totally agree with you. Twenty bucks says – "

"If you think I'm making another bet with you, House…."

"Fifty." He broke off a piece of the Pop-Tart and popped it into his mouth, chewing slowly. "Scared you'll lose again?"

"No. This isn't – "

"Then it's a bet." He took the rest of the Pop-Tart from the package and forced it into her hand, snagging back his coffee and downing what was left. "You'll thank me."

Cuddy frowned, but it wasn't directed at him. She picked up her cell phone and answered it, the ensuing conversation quick and to the point, and when she ended it with, "Thank you so much, I'll be right down," House felt his stomach twist into a knot.

"My car's ready," Cuddy announced with forced enthusiasm.

House nodded. "I'll get my keys."

But neither of them moved.

_The solution seemed perfect, the girl so exuberant that she hugged him right there, and they were lucky that the class had already started to move away. _Look_, the teacher eagerly announced as they rushed to catch up, the boy's heart beating so fast, _Jimmy's found a colony of ants_. The teacher should've known better than to bring any attention back to the boy's friend, because the jeering started almost immediately: _Which one's Charlotte?

Cuddy was the first to get up, rising with a hand on his shoulder and disappearing into the bathroom without a word. When she returned a few minutes later, she had changed back into her own clothes, made it look as though standing barefoot in a wrinkled cocktail dress early on a Saturday afternoon was the most natural thing in the world.

"I have to do some paperwork," she said, speaking the words as if they were an apology, while he began the search for his sneakers.

"It's the weekend."

"Work just magically disappears on the weekend? Here." She was holding his shoes out to him and he yanked them from her grip with more force than he'd intended, and though she looked slightly taken aback, she seemed to understand.

"In some cultures," House answered, using her arm rather than his can to steady himself as he pulled on his sneakers.

"Men who lie in front of their televisions all day do not constitute a culture."

"Shows how much _you_ know about anthropology."

_They found a creepy-crawly caterpillar, a red lady bug with seven black spots, and a striped bumblebee that made most of the girls scream, the schoolgirl only standing perfectly still and watching as it buzzed around her. It flew away before he had the chance, but the schoolboy would've swatted at it if the bee tried to sting her, even if it meant getting stung himself._

Conversation continued, just as pointlessly, as they made their way out to his car and drove the few quick miles to the garage, trailing off into silence only when he had parked his car beside hers in the small lot.

"House."

The click was her seatbelt unbuckling, the tapping that continued afterwards his own fingers drumming on the steering wheel, though he hadn't realized he was moving them. He watched her out of the corner of his eye, saw her squinting into the sunlight outside the window. There were at least three greasy mechanics eyeing them, one no more than a pair of glowing eyes within a dark corner of the garage.

Cuddy squeezed his arm as she gathered her things, the pressure of her fingers light and warm, too quick for his liking. "Thank you."

He shrugged, mumbled something about knowing where to go if she ever needed a tune-up – a retort he hardly heard himself and doubted she had either, though she returned his smile on her way out the door. He left as she was standing there, her head following his car so that the keys the mechanic handed her slipped through her fingers and she had to bend to retrieve them.

_The long, yellow buses were lining up outside the school, and as they headed inside to gather their things, the schoolboy didn't see the smiling fireman until the girl tugged on the sleeve of his jacket. She asked if he got the spider out, and the fireman said _yes_ and that was it. _

House turned the key in the lock without a hint of regret or violation, pocketing it just as easily rather than placing it back in its hiding place on the porch. Neat stacks of files and papers emblazoned with the familiar hospital logo were scattered across the coffee table, and he had only just settled into an arm chair and begun flipping through a file when he heard the door open and shut with a soft click.

"What are you doing here?" Cuddy's voice called quietly.

"Wanted to get in on some of the action."

"Action?"

Opening a file and turning it vertically, House whistled softly, leaning sideways over the arm of the chair in an effort to hold the file out of her reach as she lunged over him to snatch it away, her cheek brushing against the stubble at his chin. "I take it this means 'paperwork'_ isn't_ code for 'pool boy.'"

"If you can get off reading the hospital's financial report," Cuddy remarked, glaring at him as she straightened, "then be my guest. And I don't have a pool."

"Whoever said you needed a pool to do a few laps with a pool boy?" He closed the file and threw it onto the table, leaning back to watch her perch on the couch across from him.

"The inner workings of your mind would keep a team of psychiatrists busy for years." She picked up the file and placed it back where it had been, faltering when her eyes flicked in his direction and she felt the heat in his gaze. "You didn't have to check up on me."

"Those guys looked like idiots," he grumbled. "_Somebody_ had to be here to send out the search party when your car didn't make it home."

_The boy didn't have time to let the fireman bother him, though the jealous monster inside him was beginning to growl, because the girl wrapped her arm around his shoulders, beaming as she looked at him. Her excitement was infectious, and his frown flip-flopped automatically as she whispered breathlessly, _And I didn't even change my wish!

Never mind that he hadn't left her but ten minutes ago, that if he had wanted to make sure her car were running properly, it would've made more sense to wait at the garage or follow her home, make sure she had pulled into the driveway safely and then gone his own way.

"You don't have to stay." Her voice was soft and serious: she meant it even if it wasn't something she wanted to say.

"Is that how Miss Manners teaches you to kick someone out?"

Cuddy returned his smile and stood, ambled in his direction but with the obvious intention of continuing past him. Her hand was on his shoulder again, and then it was gone. He could get used to this, he decided, these small touches that they usually went out of their way to avoid: the brush of her fingers against him like a match tip to phosphorus.

She turned back only once before disappearing down the hallway. "You don't have to go, either."

* * *

**Eleven down, one to go. :) As always, thanks so much for reading, and please let me know what you thought if you have a second. You guys have been awesome, and I love to hear from you.**


	12. All Bets Are Off

**You guys have been awesome. Honestly. Thanks so much to everyone who's read or reviewed, especially: wrytingtyme, Shikabane-Mai, HouseM.D.FanForever, Merlynnod, Ieyre, HotlipsPierce, Eleanor J., PaulaAbdulChica2007, glicine, mandy9578, A. Heiden, gidget89, Schulyer Lola, Trinity87, AngelEyes2332, huddyaddicted, insanehouseaddict, SmilinStar, J Lesley, HuddyTheUltimate, lilylynn, HouseAddiction, Snivellusly Ozalan, CaptainTish, 7ala11, CriticalBlues, and standoffish.**

* * *

**Chapter 12: All Bets Are Off**

The trouble with Mondays was that not only were they suspiciously sneaky, bringing the exquisite laziness of the weekend to a screeching halt almost before it has begun, but they also tended to be particularly cruel about it.

The first thing House had felt – almost simultaneously – had been the dip of the mattress and the warmth of too-bright sunlight scorching his retinas. The second thing had been Cuddy's mouth against his own, insistent and inviting, and he had been out of breath within seconds though nothing but their lips had touched. She had been dressed already, damn her, and too quick for him to catch when she had pulled away. He had licked his own lips to the taste of lipstick and the minty sting of mouthwash – not even 7:30 and Cuddy was already on her way out the door, her footsteps clicking ever softer before disappearing.

If he hadn't reawakened in her bed two hours later, he might've thought the entire weekend had been a dream.

_The schoolboy's backpack felt much too heavy, though he didn't have any homework that he could remember and his pet rock had never returned home when he'd tried to find it a friend in the neighbor's cat weeks ago. Soon it would be those long, long hours when he was supposed to play or eat or sleep even though he knew it would be almost forever until he'd see the girl again._

When House next heard those footsteps, they were approaching him, and he smirked at her from his seat on the exam table when she appeared in the doorway.

Cuddy took one sweeping look around the room, empty but for him and a single x-ray technician, folded her arms and seemingly set to trying to pierce House with her glare. "There better be a damn good reason as to why I just got six calls from Radiology complaining of a disturbance."

"Bunch of wimps," House stated easily, nodding at the technician. "I think Julio here saw a mouse."

"My name's George."

"Whatever."

"You mean smelled a rat," Cuddy hissed through gritted teeth, coming slowly towards him. If he had to hazard a guess, he'd say that pain accounted for the greater part of her irritability at the moment, though he knew how quickly that could change. "You may have the week off clinic duty, House, but you still need to do your job."

"Oh, I am." He hopped off the table. "Now, we can do this the easy way…." He gestured towards the table behind him before raising his cane and waving it lightly at her. "Or the hard way."

_He thought he saw the girl glance over her shoulder at him, thought that she looked almost as sad as he felt. So it seemed they were in this together. But seeing her frown still made his stomach squirm as if he had swallowed a worm, still wriggling, although this time without any ketchup._

Cuddy glanced back at the door as he nodded in that direction, but the technician – as per their one-hundred dollar agreement – had taken up his post in the doorway, trying to put on an air of toughness, but looking distinctly as if he had recently eaten something that hadn't settled well.

"For the love of God, House," Cuddy groaned. "I can't _believe_ you…."

"Seriously?" Inching his cane up and forward, he secured the crook around her forearm and tugged, ignoring her look of shocked disbelief. "Hop on up."

"This is ridiculous."

"Yet you're cooperating." Disengaging his cane, he helped her climb onto the table and position her foot, draping a lead apron over her and grabbing one for himself as he stepped back. "Which means you think I'm right."

"Shooting," the technician drawled, and they were both silenced as the x-ray machine hummed to life once, clicking loudly.

_Trudge, trudge, trudge – outside and onto the buses, his steps even slower because everyone else seemed to be skipping. The schoolboy climbed up the stairs and down the aisle, smacking each brown, rubbery seat on either side with sweating palms before falling sulkily into his everyday seat, his friend sliding in beside him._

Once the series of x-rays had finished, House shrugged out of his lead apron and nodded at the technician. "Send the films – "

"To _my _office," Cuddy interrupted, having gotten off the table and turning to the technician with a look that clearly said she meant business. House caught the x-ray tech's eye, gesturing wildly at Cuddy and shaking his head, pointing to himself and nodding, stilling quickly and feigning innocence when Cuddy turned to face him. "My office," she repeated, narrowing her eyes. "No matter how much Dr. House has paid you or what he's doing behind my back."

The technician's cheeks reddened and he stared at his own feet as he left the room. Alone with Cuddy now, House put a hand on her elbow. "Little bossy, don't you think?"

She didn't pull away from him – if anything leaning into his touch, their verbal sparring so deeply ingrained that they didn't need to focus on or even mean the words at all. "You better have a patient within the hour, House, or – "

"You're gonna punish me?"

"Maybe if I thought there was even a _slight_ chance you wouldn't enjoy it."

"Evil woman and your empty promises." He hadn't realized that his fingers were moving against her arm until he saw her tilt her head to watch the motion. It was the roughness of her lab coat beneath the pad of his thumb, not the smoothness of skin he would have preferred, but for now he'd take what he could and run with it. "Good thing I've already got a patient."

She glanced at him – annoyance, amusement, affection. "I am _not_ your patient."

"We'll just see whose name comes back on those films," he answered, with a grin, begrudgingly letting go of her as they found themselves at the door. "Even the all-powerful Dean of Medicine can't be her own doctor."

_Due to an unfortunate incident the first week of school – involving too many fists and nosebleeds for a handful of marbles, even if they _were_ all double-swirled – their seats had been assigned. The boy only caught a glimpse of the pink and blue flowers on the girl's backpack before she slipped into a seat somewhere behind him. _

After an hour spent avoiding anyone and everyone who might present him with a patient, House stood drumming his fingers loudly on the pharmacy counter. "Come on – seventeen, eighteen, nineteen…. You _did_ go to school, didn't you?"

"I have to triple-count narcotics," the pharmacist coolly responded, sliding the pills into an empty bottle and then back onto the pharmacy tray again. "And every time you interrupt me – "

"You just filled your Vicodin script Friday," a familiar – and at the moment, annoying – voice called out.

"What are you, the pharmacy police now? Last I checked, I was still allowed to prescribe drugs for patients."

"When you have them," Wilson mumbled, edging up beside him. "I need a Z-Pack for the patient in Three," he told the pharmacist, then turned accusatorily to House. "What did you do to Cuddy? She's limping."

"What makes you think _I _had anything to do with it?" House scoffed. "The increasing weight of Cuddy's ass was bound to catch up with her eventually."

"Because you're evading. Like you always do." Wilson paused as the pharmacist placed a bottle of pills in front of House. "Those are Vicodin."

_His friend immediately started chattering, so loudly and so much that it was as if he hadn't said a word all day. The schoolboy was filled with cartoon visions of solutions to this problem – pianos and dynamite and spring-loaded boxing gloves – but experience had taught him quickly that the real world was far more painful and with much less force, so it was better to stay quiet._

"_Not_ for me." Snatching up the bottle, House shook it and leaned over the pharmacy counter. "Sure you didn't miscount?"

"You know," Wilson continued, "I called you half-a-dozen times this weekend, even stopped by your place, but…."

"You need a new hobby." House pocketed the pills and shuffled away from the pharmacy, hoping Wilson would determine that getting the medication for his clinic patient was more important than tagging along.

Obviously, that turned out not to be the case. "Where _were_ you?"

"In bed."

"All weekend?" Wilson asked, raising an eyebrow and pulling House to a stop in the middle of the hallway. "You don't look sick."

"Wasn't," House replied, shaking him off. "New issue of _Playboy_ just came out."

Wilson seemed to find this comment unworthy of any response other than an eye-roll. "So if you were… by yourself all weekend, then Friday night…?"

And then there was that. If Cuddy somehow found out or even suspected that any of this was connected to a bet – even one that, truth be told, he had forgotten all about the second he had laid eyes on her in that dress on Friday….

_The friend must've sensed that his audience was waning, because suddenly the schoolboy felt something poking him sharply, found himself face-to-face with a frustrated and serious stare. He tried to mumble how great of a find those ants really were or something about the spider, but his friend wasn't about to let him off the hook so easily: _Do you like _her_ better than me?

Experience had taught House years ago that an angry Cuddy was phenomenal for many things – not the least of which was in bed – but if that's all he was after, there were a thousand-and-one other ways to rile her. Ones that he would easily be able to soothe and talk his way out of, without so much hanging in the balance.

Clearly, there was only one option – male pride and his ego be damned. "Wasn't a date."

Wilson seemed torn between smirking victoriously and frowning in exasperation. For the first time House suspected that maybe his friend had a greater hand in all of this, hadn't really been playing to win their little bet after all.

"It was your sorry excuse for a speech, wasn't it? Sometimes, House…." Wilson sighed, and whether that was the end of his scolding or not, it was all House would hear for the day. Thank God for the pharmacist, who was now calling Wilson's name and waving a prescription in the air.

_The schoolboy was fast discovering that there were entirely different levels to liking. He liked spiders; he liked Jell-O; he liked his friend; he liked the girl – but those were hardly things that could be compared. Jell-O, after all, was somewhat unpleasant crawling down your arm, and the same for a spider that slipped down your throat. He hadn't quite figured out the difference between liking two separate people, but the best for right now was to pretend not to have heard, and he quickly fished the diamond-rock out of his pocket, its sparkling surface serving as just the distraction he needed until the bus screeched to a halt at his friend's stop._

Barging open the door with his cane, House stalked into Cuddy's office. She glanced up at him quickly, head still bent, and when he approached her, he realized that her feet were propped up on a chair to her side, an icepack over her injured foot. Fighting back both concern and laughter, he slammed the bottle of pills on her desk, pointedly placing it dead-center on the stack of papers she was trying to work her way through. "Can't say I never gave you anything."

Frowning, Cuddy turned the bottle with her pen before pushing it aside and picking up her notes where she had left off. To say she hadn't gotten through much of the work she'd brought home was a vast understatement, and the stress of it was starting to show. "I don't need that."

"Last I checked, fractures hurt."

Her pen stilled at this, and she tapped it on her desk before looking up at him, the guilt in her expression a stark contrast to the strength in her voice. "You had no right to look at my x-rays."

"I didn't," he returned with a triumphant smirk, Cuddy's frown growing darker. "But I'm pretty sure I _did_…." Quickly snatching a familiar-looking manila envelope off her desk, House held it easily out of her reach as she rose to grab it. "… have the right to look at them."

"House. Give those back."

"Cuddy, comma, Lisa," he read off the label, stroking his chin as if pondering what else was written. "Did we hire another Dr. G. House that I don't know about?"

"_We _didn't do anything." Cuddy had her arms crossed, was trying to match the gesture with a cross stare. "And I wouldn't make _that_ mistake twice."

_The girl's stop was just one before his own, at the end of a quiet street. She made a strange little gesture as she walked past him – half a wave, half as if catching her balance while someone pulled her from behind. The boy couldn't say what made him rise and follow her, but staying in his seat at the moment was simply not something that could be done. _

Her defiance made him chuckle as he started to slip the films out of the envelope, stopping before he had gone more than a few inches and screwing up his face before declaring: "Stress fracture. On the first metatarsal. With the tire iron."

"More like _you_, with the tire iron, on the side of the road," Cuddy murmured, sinking back into her chair, defeated.

"That's not what's on the cards in the envelope," House pointed out, holding the films up to the light. "I win."

Trying to ignore his gloating, she reached for her pen, but he caught her wrist with one hand, popping open the pill bottle with the other and tipping a Vicodin onto her palm. Cuddy only stared at the pill and then back at him. "I was fine all weekend."

"There's _probably_ a good reason for that…" His eyes flicked to her coffee mug and he made sure to hold them there, barreling on even as she opened her mouth to protest. "Technically, it was _my_ coffee. The first time. And I should point out that _you_ stole it from _me_." He watched as she gave in, swallowing the pill with a drink from her mug and making a face – the inescapable bitterness of Vicodin took some getting used to, and what, by now, was probably lukewarm coffee couldn't have been much help.

"It was for your own good," he added, gently, when Cuddy didn't go immediately back to her paperwork. Swiping a few of her things out of the way, he sat on the edge of her desk, batting his cane back and forth in his hands.

Cuddy leaned back in her chair, twirling her pen. She put it down after only a moment, twisting to fumble for something in the lower drawers of her desk. When she straightened, she threw a crisp fifty-dollar bill in his direction. It fell short, landing beside the pill bottle on her desk.

"For services rendered?" House asked, grinning wickedly.

_The bus driver didn't question it when the schoolboy got off at the wrong stop. There were five other children who lived on this street – what was one less or more? Some kids ran into the arms of mothers or pointedly pretended they weren't there. The girl hitched up her backpack and started the short walk to her house – the first one, into which the boy usually watched her disappear, with palms and nose pressed against the glass as the bus continued down the street. And now that he was finally standing right where he wanted to be, he didn't quite know what to do with himself._

"For your juvenile bet." Cuddy stretched to reposition the icepack that had slipped off her foot, turning quickly back to him and arching an eyebrow. "Though I find it interesting that that's all you think your… services are worth."

"And just how much would you pay for them?"

"I'm not answering that," she replied with a grin – though she added a soft "here," which she probably hadn't thought he'd heard.

Oh, he could love this woman – maybe there was a part of him that always had. "I don't want your money."

"_You're_ going back on a bet?"

"No." He knew then that he had made the right decision – good as it was, no amount of Wilson's cooking was worth giving up this. "_You're _buying dinner."

"Don't you think _you _should?" Cuddy asked slowly, and that gleam in her eyes said she was up to something, but he noticed it a split-second too late. "Given that you don't need to buy lunch for the rest of the month…."

_Shoes pattering crazily on the hard concrete of the sidewalk, the schoolboy ran to catch up with the girl as she started up her driveway. She turned before he reached her, must've known he had been behind her all along, because she was grinning as she faced him, hands on her hips._

"You _knew_…" House accused with a pointed finger, the closeness of it to her chest forcing her to lean further back.

"Keeping a secret here is about as easy as getting you to behave. You might know that if you actually listened to someone _else_ talk for five seconds."

Her comment rolled off him easily, and House didn't skip a beat. "If that's the case then we should just have at it right here." He gestured to the desktop, waggling his eyebrows. "All those windows. High-traffic area. I bet we could draw a pretty good crowd."

The quickness with which her gaze turned stern was almost alarming. "_Not_ gonna happen. Ever."

"A guy can dream, right?" he asked, staring wistfully at her desk. She rolled her eyes, but he thought he saw her gaze follow the path his own had started. Maybe one of these nights, when the shades were drawn and he had spent the entire day nudging her just south of desperately wanting…. "Everyone'll find out anyway."

"Eventually." Cuddy emphasized the word as if the strength in her tone alone could put off the inevitable, leave the two of them to themselves for just awhile longer – he had to admit, that it didn't sound half-bad.

_The schoolboy almost ran smack into her, and then he was breathless, but not just from the run. The girl gave him that look that always made him wonder what he had done wrong, but he knew this time, as she turned to glance at the face watching from her front door – her mother was curious; his would be angry. The boy frowned, shrugged, mumbling an excuse about getting off at the wrong stop that he knew she wasn't buying. The girl cocked her head, still smiling softly; her mother was calling her and it was time to go inside._

And then Cuddy was back to her paperwork again, her scribbled script oddly neat and flowing. House watched the nondescript faces pass by her office door, not sure what he wanted to say even when he started to speak. "That bet – I didn't…."

"I know."

She didn't stop writing, but her right hand made its way across the desk – as if to reach for her mug, a paperclip, the stapler – and landed on his own, squeezing gently. Surprised, he still managed to return the gesture automatically, his thumb tracing lazy, longing circles, and the length of time until tonight seemed to stretch on interminably.

Too soon, and quite heartlessly, Cuddy's phone was ringing. She withdrew her hand to answer it, with a small, somewhat apologetic smile, and House stood, accidentally knocking over something on her desk and not bothering to right it. He paused at the door, listening to her crisp, businesslike tone, and turned back to face her.

Though she tried to ignore him, his determination eventually earned him what he wanted – her attention, if somewhat distracted. Murmuring an apology, Cuddy put a hand over the phone. "What, House?"

_But then there was a new sound – a lovely sound, a happy sound, a summertime sound though it wasn't summer at all. The girl was finally calling his name, and he could come inside if he wanted – there was milk and cookies, and he could call…. The rest of her sentence, the cookies even, slipped from his mind as he tore after her up the driveway, his grin so wide it was painful, but the best kind of pain there was._

"This…." House hooked his cane on the door handle, needed both hands to trace the unmistakable hourglass curves of the female body in the air. "… is all real, right? As your doctor, I'm gonna have to look through your medical records to properly treat that fracture, so if there are any skeletons or implants…."

Cuddy had given up trying not to smile, but still made an effort to scold. "Now is not the time…." She took her hand away from the phone and held it up to him. "Yes. I'm sorry – I'm still here."

Reversing his path and following it back into the room, he edged around her desk this time, pressing up against the back of her chair and bending so his mouth lined up with her ear. "You still like Thai? For dinner," he quickly added as she twisted her head to glance at him. "I know your taste in men hasn't changed."

Cuddy sighed, and it was a beautiful sound – contentment, not exasperation, just the slightest change in timbre. "I'm going to have to call you back," she murmured, hanging up the phone. She turned back to him again, her forehead brushing his lips, and he didn't move away. "I'll be home by eight."

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**Well, that's the end. Thanks so much reading. You've all been amazing throughout this (I can't tell you that enough) -- I hope you've enjoyed the ride. :)**


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